


let's take it all in stride

by camerasparring



Series: Cam Boys In Love [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bisexual Ben Hanscom, Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Discussions of Sexual Trauma, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, It alternates between the couple lol, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Richie is just going through it, Rimming, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camerasparring/pseuds/camerasparring
Summary: And why shouldn’t they be able to mix and match? Isn’t that the point of all this? It’s clear all of them have similar interests: namely, each other. Eddie is willing to explore whatever terrain the universe presents to him, and it’s not like he’s looking outside their little four-person cube. Their setup has organically resulted in Richie being his primary partner, and the same between Ben and Bev; but Eddie feels a lot for Ben, and he knows Richie does, too.But it still feels... uneven.--Or: Everyone works out what they mean to each other. And how to institute an applicable "sock on the door" policy. A Cam Boys Sequel.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak, Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh
Series: Cam Boys In Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671784
Comments: 63
Kudos: 64





	1. if it's the same for you

**Author's Note:**

> HI I AM BACK.
> 
> I was having a bad writing block, so I fell back into my lovely Cam Boys universe. This will be one chapter from each of their POV's, and I am moving fluidly through Richie's sexuality, so be aware of that. 
> 
> Thank you to Laser. He is the father of this really horny child and he also beta'd it, so good on him. Thank you to the Horse Cock Rights GC for always being so encouraging. Thank you to the server for keeping me in this fandom so long. 
> 
> Heed the tags and don't you come here with any poly-or-bisexual-negative BS, my pals. More tags will be added in the future.

Moving in together, much like everything else they do, was a little on the fly. The lease was up at the end of the semester, right when all of the lack of communication shit hit the proverbial relationship fan. None of them wanted to make a housing decision as soon as they also decided to go all-in on each other, so they allocated an entire weekend to hash out the details and split up the rooms. 

Then they had a party, moved in Bev’s stuff, and called it good. 

But figuring out a four-way relationship takes quite a bit longer than a specially-focused weekend. 

Thankfully, none of them need to worry about enough space. There’s three full bedrooms with two full bathrooms — definitely enough for two couples who are also sort of a foursome. Eddie and Richie stick with Richie’s old bedroom most of the time, since it’s bigger, and Eddie has some sort of dumb sentimental feelings for the bed where they _fell in love_. Admitting it, after various prodded questions and teasing kisses, makes him want to gag, but his boyfriend is a romantic, and so is his _other_ boyfriend, and honestly, Eddie has no idea how he ended up with two guys so sentimental and mushy, but it must be rubbing off on him. 

They turn the third bedroom into something of a multi-purpose room, because they’re four grown adults with hobbies and jobs, and because they’re all conscious of needing alone time. It’s cluttered with Ben’s drawing table, Bev’s errant pieces of fabric hung off the end, Richie’s George Carlin books piled on top of Eddie’s thick law books. Their old couch is shoved in a corner because Richie didn’t want to throw it out with the trash, even though they can afford something nicer (and bigger) on their increased budget. Bev brought an armchair in a dark pink, and a “ladies bust” she got that Richie often twirls around while he samples songs for his shifts at the new station. Ben’s 23 inch TV sits on top of Eddie’s old desk so Richie and Ben have something to do while Bev uses them as human dummies. 

The room becomes more storage than practical space for Eddie; the library is much quieter, and in a pinch, the kitchen table has room for him to spread out papers and books and case briefs while he works. Sometimes, though, when he’s alone, when everyone has left and the silence is too much for him, he peeks in to soak up the clutter. 

Eddie grew up with his hoarder of a mother, though that was the very least of her problems. She hardly left the house when he lived there, but she still managed to accumulate knick-knacks and old paintings, crosses and ceramic figures of Jesus, Mary, lambs and far more than three wise-men. Eddie came to dread the day after Thanksgiving, when she would shove aside dusty books to fit several separate manger scenes, and plastic Santas and moldy lights she would make him dredge out of the attic. It would take him two full weeks to recover from the seizing cough his allergies brought on, but Sonia Kaspbrak took it as an opportunity to convince him he had asthma. After continued, overwhelming, worsening symptoms, he finally believed her; the fact that he was forced to recover in the place that brought them on in the first place didn’t occur to him until later. 

And then came the “skin sensitivities,” and the “food allergies,” and the “irregular bowel movements” (brought on by the “new, purer diet” she put him on), all of which led to different doctors and tests and medications and soon Eddie’s whole life felt like the unchecked chaos of his mother’s house: completely out of his hands. 

Moving out, moving here, moving _on_ has largely restored that control. The clutter of the spare room, in Eddie’s own apartment, that he shares with the people he chose, _his_ people, hits very differently. Trusting everyone with their own things, with their own lives, is what makes it work. Even without any practical use for himself, Eddie respects the room. It’s a part of each of them, haphazard and messy, cobbled together. 

The big sectional couch they got, however, is everyone’s favorite place to be, Eddie included.

When he gets back from a long day of classes, Mock Trial, and study group with his fucking pretentious fellow law students, the first thing he does is flop down onto the attached chaise. Ben and Richie know to stay off of it at this point; Eddie and Bev have called enough dibs in the span of a few months. Even Eddie forfeits it when he sees Bev walk through the door — some unspoken understanding that the chaise is the height of relaxation. 

Their boyfriends are pushovers, and both of them take advantage of it. 

“Long day?” Ben asks, munching on a bowl of cereal as Richie snoozes next to him. Eddie groans and stretches, wiggling his toes off the edge. 

“Of fucking _course_.” He rubs a hand over his eyes. The fatigue starts to settle in as his bones do the same. “I’m starting to think law school might kill me. I can’t turn my goddamn brain off, which is _usually_ true, but this is like a never-ending whirlwind of anxiety and lists and assignments and reading and even I have a hard time keeping up and I’ve _never_ had a hard fucking time keeping up in school. That’s why I _went_ to law school!” He feels the panic start to rise, and the sleepy fog has cut the wiring to the off-switch. “And it’s only my first year! I hear it gets even worse.” 

“Yeah, Bev’s friend Mike is trying it, too,” Ben says. His eyebrows flinch. He glances down at Richie, deep in a snore, and uncrosses his legs, like he wants to move to sit next to Eddie instead. He’s always so concerned about comforting each of them when they’re clearly anxious. He knows all of them so well. Then again, Eddie’s chest is audibly rattling, so maybe Ben’s not so much observant as he is not clueless. 

“I’m okay, it’s just—” His fists clench reflexively. It’s just… a _lot_. “I feel like I’m already drowning and it’s only halfway through the second semester. I’m worried I won’t have any time for _anyone_ , or like, for Richie, much less—”

“Hey.” Ben lifts off the couch to sit at the end of Eddie’s chaise. Richie barely stirs, curling up in the empty space Ben was occupying. He returns easily to sawing wood and dreaming his little head away. “Don’t worry about us, Eds.” 

Ben tangles their hands together, and something loosens in Eddie’s chest. Ben makes him feel so… seen. So calm and loved and safe. They all do, but Ben has this _look_ that Eddie can’t shake. It’s what he pictures in his most stressful moments: Ben staring him straight in the eye, shaking at his hand, pecking a kiss onto the top of his head and saying “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Ben actually says, and Eddie can’t help but laugh. Ben’s eyebrows twitch. “What? Am I actually helping that much?”

“No, no.” Ben frowns, and Eddie hisses, which makes Ben jerk back. “I mean, yes, of course you’re helping, man. You always help.” Eddie smiles at him, pulling breath into his lungs. “Just don’t— don’t tell me not to worry about you.” 

Ben’s eyes are big as saucers against his. “Oh,” he says, quietly. 

“Yeah, and like, I _want_ to spend time with you,” Eddie tells him. Ben’s eyebrows jump again, the pinch in his forehead growing as his lips curl into a smile. “You’re important to me, and so is—” 

Richie cracks a hard snore, and they both laugh. Even in sleep, his timing is impeccable. 

Ben waves a hand, like he wanted to end the conversation anyway, but Eddie catches his chin and reels him in for a kiss. 

The warm, comforting scent of Ben drifts up into Eddie’s nostrils; he smells like blanket forts and tingling nerves and sweet, dabbled perspiration. It reminds Eddie of the limb-numbing satisfaction of popping a Xanax. He’d tried one his freshman year, almost immediately after he cut his mother loose. She left him several screechy, flabbergasted voicemails, screaming about how ungrateful and lost and misguided he was. His roommate overheard and offered him one, surely out of pity, but Eddie was feeling exhausted and defiant enough to take one. Richie would probably scoff at him now for being so innocent, worrying about a little pill that doctors easily prescribe to bored upper-class housewives. But it felt good on the night. Like he needed it. Like it was there just at the right time. 

The soft sweep of Ben’s fingers over his arm mimic that feeling. Like he needs it. 

Eddie could have easily gone overboard, taking pills from all the cute boys who asked (his roommate _was_ cute, after all, but he didn’t get into the business of following that thread until a few years later when Richie and Ben walked into his life), but the fear overwrought any sense of rebellious satisfaction, and he stuck to heavily-buttered meals and highly-filtered water to get his kicks instead. 

The kiss simmers slow; Eddie tracing the line of Ben’s jaw, and Ben shifting closer until he’s almost in Eddie’s lap. When Ben’s thigh presses into his, Eddie hums gently, and then realizes: they’ve never really done this. They’ve made out plenty of times, of course, but Richie’s always been eagerly watching somewhere, or otherwise occupied. The stars and their schedules re-aligned so Friday night movies could make a come-back, and what start as cuddle piles devolve quickly into make-out piles, which means that all mouths and tongues and, like, _bodies_ , are up for grabs, and most of the time when Eddie comes up for air from Ben’s, he sees Richie enthralled with Bev’s. 

And why shouldn’t they be able to mix and match? Isn’t that the point of all this? It’s clear all of them have similar interests: namely, each other. Eddie is willing to explore whatever terrain the universe presents to him, and it’s not like he’s looking outside their little four-person cube. Their setup has organically resulted in Richie being his primary partner, and the same between Ben and Bev; but Eddie feels a lot for Ben, and he knows Richie does, too. 

Eddie thinks of spending a night with Ben. _Just_ Ben. Maybe Richie is working late, or out with another friend, or visiting his parents. Maybe Eddie and Ben have dinner together; Eddie makes the meal and Ben bakes cookies; Eddie complains about how long it takes them to cool and Ben lets him have two when they finally do. Maybe they end up watching a movie in Ben’s bed on his laptop because they can stay warm together under the covers. Maybe Eddie pushes the laptop out of the way once Ben falls asleep against his chest. Maybe they wake up together the next morning when Richie gets home, and the three of them have breakfast while they each recount their nights. 

Maybe Eddie wants to ask Ben out. Maybe Eddie really wants to treat Ben like his boyfriend, too. 

Feeling emboldened by this new idea, Eddie rubs his thumb against Ben’s, and Ben mirrors the move with his tongue against Eddie’s bottom lip, and then opens up for him like a flower, pressed apart at each petal so Eddie can lick inside and taste him. Eddie groans. The soft, insistent lips against his part and slide and someone gasps and then Eddie throws a leg over Ben’s lap to climb on in. 

Ben holds him around the hips, his hands shaking, and Eddie pulls back, a thin string of saliva connecting them. He laughs, breathless, loving the shine in Ben’s eyes. But there’s something else, there, too.

“This okay?” 

Ben looks overwhelmed but turned on, the color high in his cheeks. “I— I mean, yeah, it’s—” He jerks his head toward Richie. “Should we wake him up?” 

A mental list forms in Eddie’s head as he watches Richie’s chest expand and fall. A whole slew of questions the four of them are not asking _or_ answering. If he’s considering spending alone time with Ben, does that mean Richie has, too? There have been plenty of times, tonight included, when Eddie has arrived home to Richie and Ben hanging out on their own. Have they talked about dating each other? Having sex separately? 

Does _Eddie_ want to have sex with Ben… without Richie?

Each of them deserve the time to sort through that — to connect. But Eddie can put these thoughts into action later. Right now, he wants his boyfriends to get their hands all over each other. And he wants to _watch_. 

Eddie pushes off of Ben’s lap and shoves into the corner of the chaise, pointing over at Richie. 

“You can wake him up.” He undoes his jeans, shimmying them down over his hips. “Kiss him awake, he loves that. He’s all warm and sleepy.” 

Ben throws on dopey grin. “I know, it’s so cute.”

Eddie’s lungs constrict as Ben approaches Richie’s sprawled out form. Watching them touch has always been a bit of a thrill, but being able to touch each other without the cameras, now that they know that’s okay, and something they all want is… still a novelty. It’s only been a few months, after all.

Ben bends down to press his chest against Richie’s arm. He smooths a hand through Richie’s hair to push it out of his eyes, and it’s so domestic that Eddie’s heart races. He imagines them alone like this: Ben snuggling up to Richie on the couch, kissing hazily, running hands over skin and loose clothes, surging harder and harder against each other until they can’t take it anymore and clamber off to the bedroom. Or maybe even fuck _right here_.

Eddie digs a hand into his pants and palms at his soft cock. Richie still hasn’t woken, so he urges Ben on with glare. Ben huffs a quiet laugh, but then leans up to kiss at Richie’s mouth. Eddie’s stomach drops. 

Ben goes slowly, and Eddie’s reminded of just seconds ago on the couch, Ben’s mouth pressed against his, tasting like coffee and corn flakes. A flash of Ben’s tongue peaks through, and then Richie finally starts getting a clue. His hands come up to Ben’s face in a tired flinch, reacting to the disturbance, fingers digging into the wells below Ben’s ears. His mouth drops open obscenely. Ben takes the opportunity presented to him, as he always does, and tongues inside. Eddie can practically feel it in his mouth, too. 

Eddie cock jerks, so he moans, just to further along the waking up process.

Richie’s eyes flicker over to him. Eddie smiles. 

“Hey, Richie.” 

“Hnnnmmm,” Richie moans into Ben’s mouth. He throws his arms around Ben’s neck like he’s Scarlett O’Hara and Ben is coming home from war or some shit. He fell asleep the night they watched _Gone With the Wind_ and woke up with his face in Richie’s lap, so that experience was more about fitting as much of Richie’s cock in his mouth at one time than a lesson in… again, whatever the fuck that movie is about. 

Ben takes his time. His body is twisted so his and Richie’s chests press together soundly, but Ben isn’t draped on top of him. Eddie loves to have Ben’s full weight on him, but he knows Ben’s sensitive about it. He makes a mental note to ask Ben to crawl between his knees and fuck him missionary next time. Maybe _this_ time. Eddie has no idea where this is heading. 

His cock is fattening up nicely, watching Richie try to grind up into the air. Ben must see, too, because he presses a hand over Richie’s crotch, and that gets Eddie all the way there. They’ve barely _done_ anything, but Eddie’s mouth waters at the thought of just watching them go at it all night. 

Eddie clears his throat, squirming against the cushions to pull off his undies. He’s not playing coy anymore. 

“How does he feel?” he asks to no one in particular. 

“So warm,” Ben answers. Richie’s eyes are still hazy with sleep, his fingers stretching and petting through the hair at the back of Ben’s head. Ben’s arm is out of sight for Eddie, but he sees it working at something, rolling in motions against what Eddie assumes is Richie’s cock. 

Eddie bites his lip. “Nice way to wake up, huh, Rich?” 

Richie moans. Eddie’s dick oozes pre-come at the sound, so he smears it around the head, spreading it down to pump it through his fingers. He’s careful, slow — he wants to make this last. Ben gets Richie gasping against him, his hand still at work, and Eddie has half a mind to sit in Ben’s old recliner across the room, just for a better view, until Ben sits back and Eddie hears Richie _whine_. 

Ben exhales heavily. “You want more, baby?” 

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles, wet and raspy in his mouth, and Ben turns to smirk at him. “You fuckin’ know how much we love that.” 

Ben leans back with a laugh, the movement of his shoulders lifting the hem of his shirt so Eddie can see a peak of his belly. It hangs happily over the band of his pants, and Eddie wants to tongue over its curves, mouth into the hair that leads down to his cock: wiry and sandy and thick. He wants to take Ben’s cock into his mouth — it tastes so fucking good and it’s been at least… four days. Eddie presses the tip of his tongue to the points of his teeth to keep his composure. 

Richie, a lost cause, pants messily into the air, pawing at Ben’s thigh but looking straight at Eddie. 

“You two in cahoots or something?” Ben lets Richie take his hand, fingers dancing across his palm. Eddie sees Ben shiver. 

“Something like that,” Eddie mumbles. “Aren’t we always?” 

“Debatable,” Ben says. He trails his mouth over Richie’s chest, sucking lightly at his nipple through his shirt. Richie hisses. “We switch it up.” 

“And what’s the configuration today, good lads?” Richie looks around the room, his eyelids still heavy. “Or is there a dame lurking somewhere, too? She sneaks up on me.” 

Ben laughs again, the sound sweet in Eddie’s ears. “No, she’s staying with her aunt tonight.” 

Richie shrugs, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. “More men for me, I guess.” 

“Mmm, you bet, handsome,” Ben says, hucking up Richie’s shirt to circle a tongue around a bare nipple this time. He’s so fucking cheesy. It’s no wonder Ben’s the one who wanted to get into porn — he’s got the sleazy, pet name thing down to a T. It works, if Eddie’s throbbing cock is any indication, not to mention Richie’s dazed eyes and heaving chest. Hard to complain when your boyfriend makes you come in your pants just from calling you “baby” while he licks around the nipple clamps he bought you.

Eddie watches Richie peer at Ben as he trails a tongue down his chest. “You going somewhere, Haystack?”

“I have some ideas, yeah.” He flicks at Richie’s bellybutton with the tip. Eddie bites at the inside of his cheek. His hand has stilled on his dick, mostly because he can’t stop thinking about shoving it into Richie’s mouth. Richie’s always so eager — panting, sweating, swearing, drooling around him. The build up makes Eddie hungry for that level of desperation. 

Ben taps at Richie’s hip, so Richie lifts them so they can slide off his pants. He’s not wearing underwear, because when is he ever. Eddie has noticed a downtick since last year, too, as if he always wants to be ready for any situation. He did just wake up to two very horny men, so Eddie figures he’s got something there. 

“Gonna suck me off?” Richie’s voice is shaky. Ben nods, then slips his mouth over the head, pumping quickly as his hands move down between Richie’s legs. Richie flinches. “Ah, ah, ah, no ass-play today, fellas. I had a nasty bout of Mexican for lunch.” 

Ben moves away from Richie’s dick as Eddie groans. “Fuck, dude, you don’t need to _tell_ us.” 

“You wanna get up close and personal with the Tozier behind? This is the kind of information you need to be privy to!” 

Ben rolls his eyes, then looks to Eddie. “You wanna get over here and shut him up?” 

Eddie smirks, fisting at the base of his cock. “You read my mind.” 

They fall into it easily — Ben takes Richie back into his mouth, using his hands on what he can’t fit; Eddie feeds his cock between Richie’s waiting lips in turn, holding him softly around the skull to move how he wants him; Richie torn between pinching at his own nipple and Eddie’s, or letting his hands fall akimbo off the couch when it gets to be too much at once. 

Eddie, already close from the small show between Ben and Richie, from a sleepy, soft Richie and a sweet, loving Ben, takes up the helm of dirty talk without even meaning to.

“Richie, fuck, you look so good with a cock in your mouth.” Eddie pushes his hips forward, pistoning in as deep as it’ll go — he knows Richie can take it. Richie chokes around him slightly, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” 

Richie moans, nods, scratches at hair around Eddie’s cock. Eddie pants, watching Ben take Richie down just as well. God, fuck, he wants both of them so much. The clench of Richie’s throat is enchanting; the slippery, velvet heat of his tongue, his cheeks, the drawn-out, blown circles of his pupils staring up at Eddie in reverence. Eddie wants to fuck him, wants to flip him over and stretch him open with his dick while Ben— fuck— he wants it _all_.

Ben pulls off with a gasp, his lips shiny, and looks to Eddie. “He’s gonna come.” 

Richie moans in assent before Ben fits him back inside, bobbing his head in eager expectation, and Eddie feels himself crawl closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, I love watching you two,” Eddie says, and Ben’s eyes flick up to meet his. “So beautiful.” 

Pulling back, Eddie runs his cock slowly over Richie’s lips, but Richie laps his tongue out to keep it there, so desperate to have a cock pressed inside him while he comes down Ben’s throat. Eddie can see his hips start to flinch and hears a rough grumble from Ben’s chest.

“You gonna unload in his mouth, Rich? You gonna give him what he wants?”

“Fuck, _yeah_ ,” Richie whines. 

Eddie practically quivers. “Do it, I wanna see you.” 

Ben’s speed picks up, pulling at Richie’s hips to fuck deeper into his face. Eddie leans down to grip a hand in Ben’s hair and force him down harder. 

“Look how much he loves it. He loves sucking your cock, Rich.” 

“Fuck, it’s so good,” Richie murmurs, licking up the sides of Eddie’s dick. He’s more relaxed than when they record, his voice smooth and aching, his eyes wide and open for the both of them. A thrilling, sudden need spikes through Eddie’s heart. 

He wants Richie to have everything. He wants Richie to be taken care of — and not just by him. By everyone he loves. He wants to wrap Richie up in a blanket of warm, gooey acceptance and safety and never let the world touch him again. He wants to be there for him, too; he fucking hates how much law school is already splitting their time. Luckily, there are people there to pick up the slack for him, but— 

Eddie tucks that thought away for later. He can feel himself toppling, leaking and painfully hard, so he shoves his cock back into Richie’s mouth and cups his jaw to keep him still just as he starts to come. 

“Yeah, yeah, take— _fuck_ , I’m coming—”

Ben pulls off again, and Richie’s hips thrust in his wake.

“Come on his chest, baby, make a mess of him,” Ben pants. 

Eddie barely has the wherewithal to change gears. His ears are rushing, already coming on Richie’s tongue, but Richie releases him quickly. He pivots himself to pump out the last few ropes of come over Richie’s chest, watching carefully as Ben slobbers on Richie’s dick. Richie’s shirt is still tucked up under his armpits and he’s humping up into Ben’s face, his eyes wild, his mouth still wet from where Eddie left him, his bare chest covered in hair and flushed red, and Eddie can’t wait to see him come. He strokes a hand slowly over his wet cock, dragging it over Richie’s lips as he starts to lose it. 

Ben pulls off for good when Richie tugs at his hair, and then he’s jerking himself, too, his hand dug into his sweatpants and climbing off where his knees were spread between the couch and the floor to aim for their meeting ground on Richie’s chest. Richie pumps himself, mouthing desperately at Eddie’s cock as he starts to shoot, and then Richie’s skin is awash with white fluid. When he rubs it up onto his nipples, dirtying his shirt, still pushed up under his arms, Eddie feels his spent dick twitch against Richie’s lapping tongue. 

_God_. Eddie is fully ruined for other people. He’s really hit the jackpot. 

They all pant and stare until Richie hums happily.

“You fuckin’ Jackson Pollock’ed all over me, dude,” Richie says with glee. His head hits the pillow behind him, clearly still foggy from his nap. Eddie suddenly feels bad waking him up; Richie’s been working long hours, too, since he took over the station while his boss is on maternity leave. 

Then Ben traces a finger through the mess on Richie’s chest and brings it to his mouth. 

“Don’t fucking— _ugh_ ,” Eddie says, far too late, since Ben’s fingers are already practically to the back of his tongue. He waves a hand in disgust, but Richie immediately cracks up, his softening dick flopping between his legs.

“Fuck, Hanscom, you might be my soulmate,” Richie says in a rush. After a beat, he looks up to Eddie with worried eyes. Eddie’s thrown by Richie’s panic, but that same thought resurfaces: Richie doesn’t really feel safe expressing any level of affection for anyone but him. Outside of sex, that is. 

Eddie sees Ben’s face fall, then twitch with recognition, before twisting into a sweet smile. He reaches a hand out to fist into the sticky mess of Richie’s shirt and pull him up for a kiss. 

Eddie leaves them to it in search of adequate cleaning supplies. Perhaps a mop, with the amount of semen currently cooling on Richie’s chest. 

When he comes back they’re still necking, tucked against each other, Richie’s shirt discarded on the floor. He stands back with his wet wipes and his towel, watching them press into each other, wondering if they do this without him here. 

He hopes they do. 

And if not, they _will_. But that’s for tomorrow. Right now, he needs to put them to bed.

  
  
  
  


The sun hits Eddie in the face as soon as he wakes, so he turns over to grumble his dissatisfaction into Ben’s armpit. 

“Mmmmmffff,” he says, because it’s true. 

Ben mumbles a quiet, “Oh,” back to him, clearly still asleep, and it’s cute enough that Eddie musters up the strength to pull himself out of bed. He’s got a meeting with his advisor at nine, and then a lunch with his fellow first year students right after that, and he should probably eat something before heading out because the cafe they picked has nothing more substantial than muffins, and Eddie likes to subsist on more than sugar and… more sugar. 

Not that there's anything wrong with sugar. 

Fuck, now he wants Lucky Charms for breakfast. 

He grabs a shirt off Richie’s night-stand and a pair of boxers off the floor (Ben’s are much more comfy, and much _cleaner_ than Richie’s, but either way Eddie loves to wear his boyfriends’ clothes) and starts to head out when he notices the full picture of the scene on the bed. 

Ben’s flat on his back, as he usually is, a line of wiped drool drying on his side where Eddie used to be. Richie’s clung around him like an octopus to a piece of driftwood, limbs tentacling wildly, mouth hanging open in the crook of his arm, snoring just like he was last night. Eddie wants to wake them both with kisses; let them know where he’s going, but he doesn’t want to disturb their cuddly slumber. Instead, he watches them for a few warm seconds before his phone alarm shocks him out of it. 

Once he’s showered, shaved and dressed, he drags himself into the kitchen to get breakfast. He’s just finding the milk in the fridge, since Richie always fucking _moves it_ , when Bev creaks the front door open. 

“Hey there, brown eyes,” she says quietly, glaring down at his bowl of cereal, then over at the box on the counter. “Are you really eating the Lucky Charms? I assumed that was Richie’s.” 

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “Don’t judge me, I have to socialize today and I needed the kick.” 

“Ah yes,” she says. “Just don’t come crying to me when you crash halfway through the morning.” 

“When do I ever come crying to you?” 

She sets down her bag on the table and then glances at her champagne-colored watch. 

“Oh, uh, always?” 

Eddie squints. “I _complain_ , I never cry.” She sets him with a stare.

“You cry sometimes.” 

“Okay, sometimes I cry, but it’s always _tasteful_.” 

Bev scoffs. “What the fuck is ‘tasteful crying’? It’s crying. It’s not supposed to be tasteful.” She reaches her arms up, gathering up her hair and tying it into a messy bun. Eddie watches the soft, dull red of the errant pieces stick to Bev’s neck. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” Eddie says quickly. Bev smiles, wide and happy, but Eddie sees the circles forming under her eyes. “You sleep well at your aunt’s?” 

Her face does something then, a combination shrug and sigh.

“Eh, as well as I ever do.” She flips up her bag and pulls out her water bottle and some chapstick. “It’s nice that she’s close to the office but her guest bed is one step up from a futon.”

Eddie’s back aches in sympathy. 

“And _not_ an important step,” she says with a sly smile. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“We need to watch something other than _A League of Their Own_ on girls night.” 

“What!” Bev yelps. “It’s the _perfect_ girl’s night movie.” And that reminds Eddie.

“We also need a new name for girl’s night, it’s feeling homophobic to me.”

Her arms drop. He can tell she’s working hard not to roll her eyes at him. 

“Whatever,” she sighs. “You’re just sick of the boys making fun of you.” 

“They don’t _make fun of me_ , they’re just fucking _assholes_. And then I feel the need to defend it even though that’s bullshit. And then I get mad _because_ it’s bullshit. And then I realize they’re doing it just to rile me up. And really by boys I think we both know I mean Richie while Ben watches him like a little puppy.” Eddie takes another big slug of coffee and puts his mug next to his bowl in the sink. Perhaps they’ll be gone by the time he returns home tonight. Wishful thinking, really: he knows it’s Richie’s turn to do dishes.

“Ugh, yeah.” Bev drops into a seat at the table. “Sometimes they’re so fucking cute it’s annoying.” 

Eddie’s eyes bug. He turns around and grabs her hand, and she grunts unhappily when he drags her out of the chair.

“That reminds me, come with me, and be quiet.” 

He presses a finger over his mouth like they’re approaching a snoozing baby in a bassinet, instead of two full grown men in a bed big enough for four people. Bev grumbles for the length of the hallway, but once they approach the bedroom, their arms pressed together elbow to shoulder, Eddie hears her sharp intake of breath. 

Ben and Richie are in the same position Eddie left them in, save for Richie’s head, which is now tucked up under Ben’s chin. Eddie lets his eyes roam far, down to each of their toes, their ankles bare from where their sleep pants have scrunched up. Each of them sweat deeply in their sleep, but still insist on pants for the cold Chicago fall. Richie’s room doesn’t have the best insulation; Eddie’s been trying to get their landlord to replace the windows, but she tells him that’s “way above her pay grade,” which he finds impossible considering it is literally housing maintenance. Something for him to reconsider once he finally gets through law school. 

Ben stretches, rolling onto his side and looping his arms more solidly around Richie. Eddie feels his face heat.

“What,” Bev breathes back out, a soft laugh shaving at the edges of what Eddie knows is sincerity. 

“Yeah, they’re a lot,” he adds, spinning a 180 so his heart can take a break. 

Bev licks at her lips, nodding her head, chewing at her cheek like Eddie does when he knows he has something to say and isn’t sure if he should say it. The… few times that happens. 

“D’you ever think they…” 

She rolls her hand in a suspicious, leading motion. Eddie flips back around.

“ _Maybe_! I don’t know, I don’t—” He bounces his feet. “I think they should, but I know they’re both a few layers deep in different, yet equally complicated issues.” 

“Yeah, well, join the club,” Bev says, her voice barely above a whisper. Eddie stays quiet while her lips shift back and forth. “Still, we should get to the bottom of it.” 

Eddie turns back to the bed. 

“What, like. We each tell them to meet us at a romantic restaurant and then neither of us show and they have to go on a date by themselves?” 

Bev’s eyebrows crinkle. Her eyes go wide. “What the _fuck_ , no, we just _talk_ to them. Have you ever had a relationship _outside_ of a sitcom?” 

“Alright, alright, fuck you,” Eddie says, then thinks of what his therapist would tell him. _Honesty_. “This is my first relationship, actually.” 

He feels Bev’s hand on his arm before his sentence even ends. 

“I know, babe.” She smiles warm at him, and he knows she wouldn’t tease him, but the adrenaline still pumps hard in his veins. Her eyes hone back in on the bed. “But your manipulative rom-com approach may have a strain of gold deep within.” 

“Oh my _god_.” 

  
  


The next day, a rainy Sunday morning, Eddie is trying to swing on a rope to narrowly avoid a swooping bee. 

Richie emerges from their bedroom, rumpled and loose from sleep, mouth stretched in a yawn.

“Aw fuck _yes_ , Donkey Kong Country.” Richie tumbles to sit next to him on the couch, and Eddie hushes him with a foot to the shin. 

“Shut _up_ , this is like the eighteenth time I’ve had to do this level and I can’t make it to the fucking save point, I’m about to throw myself off a bridge.” 

Eddie takes great care to avoid blinking while Richie settles in: scratching at the back of his neck, his dick through his flimsy pajama shorts, his sparse leg hair that trails up his thighs— and then Eddie is taking care to avoid _looking_. 

Richie seems unbothered. 

“They don’t make games like this anymore,” he sighs. Eddie scoffs, then gasps in delight when he smashes a box to find a giant frog to ride around. This will make shit _much_ easier. 

“What? Games that infuriate you because they’re impossible to beat?” A bee stings the frog. Eddie almost chucks his controller out the window. 

“I don’t know,” Richie says, squirming around on the couch, and Eddie looks over to see him snaking a hand into his shorts. “I kinda like it when you get all riled up.” 

Eddie likes it too, but he groans unhappily. “Don’t get any ideas, man, I have one day off a month and I promised I’d beat this fucking game today.” Richie’s hand snaps back.

“Promised? Promised who? Diddy Kong?” 

“Myself, dipshit!” 

Richie grunts. Eddie sees him rubbing at his clothed crotch out of his periphery. 

“Well that’s too bad, because I promised myself I’d suck your dick today.” 

Eddie twitches in his own briefs, like his dick knows when it’s being discussed. He’s so fucking easy for Richie. But Richie doesn’t have to know that. 

(He probably already knows, considering Eddie is usually dripping by the time Richie’s feverishly pulling him out of his clothes; he’s ruined so many pair of undies he has to strip down to next-to-naked for anything above a make-out.)

“You just sucked me off a couple days ago!” he says instead, because he’d love a blowjob but he’d also love to beat this fucking game. Richie balks.

“Sue me for loving your dick!”

Richie drapes himself over Eddie’s torso, nuzzling his nose at the band of his boxers. Eddie hears him inhale, nose pressing at the loosened fabric down to expose his pubes. Eddie sighs — he really should get new boxers. These ones afford Richie far too much room to play.

“Fuck, you smell good,” Richie mumbles into him. Eddie feels Richie’s tongue trace the line of the hair down to his dick. It jerks again. Traitor. 

But he did just shower. Maybe he can convince Richie to finger him, too. It’d be oddly thrilling to not only beat the game he’d been working on since age five, but do it while he’s got Richie nudging against his prostate. Talk about a happy ending. 

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Eddie huffs. “I’ll let you suck my dick as long as you don’t fuck up my progress.” 

Richie laughs and groans, but he’s already sliding down to his knees and pulling at Eddie’s boxers until they’re bracing his thighs together. His dick is still soft, but Richie takes it in his mouth, moaning at the first touch against his tongue. Eddie, however, s far more focused on the timing of jumping his cart on the tracks, slamming at the small purple buttons while Richie starts jacking his hand over Eddie’s cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Richie sighs to himself, shifting on his knees. Eddie almost throws him a pillow, but nixes it in favor of watching Richie wince. It was _his_ idea after all — he should have considered the red, achy knees and burn from their area rug. Once a dick is in his sights, Richie’s pretty much a lost cause on reasoning and foresight. 

Eddie stares down at the rug and wonders how scratched up he could get Richie if he fucked him, down on all fours, railing into him as he slid across the length of the floor.

But no. _Focus_. 

“Keep your head down, I can’t see over your damn curls.” 

Richie grunts and pops the head in his mouth. Eddie jumps his cart three times in a row. Richie pulls off and smacks his lips together.

“Are you wet already?” 

“You’re on thin ice, Tozier.” 

Richie huffs a laugh. “Alright, alright, someone’s _sensitive_.” 

Eddie would push him off completely if he didn’t have to fucking _concentrate_. Also if he weren’t really fucking good with his tongue. And his hands. And if he weren’t always ready to deep-throat without being asked. Richie licks gently over the slit multiple times and Eddie’s hips twitch again. Fuck, this is a horrible idea. 

Moving his ass down against the couch, Eddie gestures at his boxers with the free hand he has between levels. 

“Take these off me,” he says, and Richie hops to it, slurping loudly, lips shiny. Eddie wants to kiss him. Instead, he spreads his legs and props one foot up on the cushion so Richie can get to his ass. “Go get the lube.” 

“Oh ho hoooo—” 

“Shut up, you’re gonna miss your window.” 

Richie’s eyebrows wiggle. He opens the drawer on their little side table and fishes out a small bottle of lube Eddie’s never seen before. 

“You think I’m not prepared?” 

“Who even _uses_ that?” Eddie squints. Richie puts Eddie’s cock back in his mouth instead of answering, so Eddie’s mind floods with thoughts of Ben and Richie out on the couch, Richie’s legs spread wide while Ben pounds into him, fingering around his rim, tonguing deep into his mouth as Richie groans— 

Richie’s eyes close as he frees his mouth. “You know that sense memory shit?” 

“Huh?” 

Eddie pumps his hips, but all it does is rub the head of his cock over Richie’s bottom lip. And, like, okay, that’s pretty hot. He does it again, but Richie swats him away in favor of whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“You know how sometimes you smell, like, lavender and you’re transported to, like, age five, shoving your face in your grandmother’s lavender bushes?” Richie squirts a small dollop of lube squirts onto his fingers. Eddie shakes his head. 

“My grandmother lived in a condo.” He presses into the finger Richie’s circling around his hole. “And my mom would never have let me shove my _face_ in a _bush_.” 

Richie snorts. “Well that explains a lot.” Eddie frowns.

“That makes no sense.” 

“Yeah, well, my finger’s in your ass and your dick is right in my face. Excuse me if I’m off my game.” 

Eddie’s chest expands and settles into the pleasure. “So my dick reminds you of your grandma?” 

Richie’s eyes bug. “ _No_ , what?” 

“You brought up your fucking grandma!”

“It’s the _lube_ , genius,” Richie says, twisting his wrist. “You know, for a law student, you have awful deduction powers.” 

Eddie stares at the television, the controller hanging limp in his hand as Richie runs the tip of his lips over the side of his cock. 

“So… the lube—”

“It gets me hot, yes, can I put my mouth on your dick now?” 

Eddie’s lips curl of their own volition. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Fuckin’ tease,” Richie scoffs, then fills his mouth to the brim. 

And after that, he doesn’t talk for a good while. Eddie’s been running the same level the entire time, but he still feels like it’s a win. 

Not that he minds Richie talking — if he did, they probably wouldn’t be together. He loves when Richie really loses it, his mouth pouring fantasies Eddie doesn’t think he’d tell anyone otherwise. Eddie does the same thing, and Richie’s made it clear he likes it, so after Eddie’s lives run out yet again, he fists a hand in Richie’s hair and moves him up and down his spit-slick cock a little harder. 

“Take it,” Eddie mumbles, and Richie groans. It shakes his bones, vibrates up through his ribcage. “You gonna give me another finger?” 

Richie slips another in carefully, but Eddie pushes down on it, eager to get things going. At this rate, he’s gonna have to sit on Richie’s dick, but that might afford him a little more control. With a mouth on his cock, Eddie’s finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the noises Richie’s making around him, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth and into the dark hair of Eddie’s bush.

The couch material doesn’t slide easily, so Eddie doesn’t have much potential for movement, but he thrusts downward best he can to get Richie’s fingers deeper inside. Then Richie pulls them out completely and hikes Eddie’s legs up around his shoulders. 

“I know what you want,” he says, raspy from the dick that’s been nudging at his throat. Eddie pulls his cock up further so Richie can tongue around his hole. 

“Fuck yeah,” he gasps, loving the sloppy feel of him. 

“Mhmm,” Richie hums. He pinches two fingers at Eddie’s balls, holding them up and out of the way, pressing his nose in the space right below, and it sends a shock up Eddie’s spine. The controller slips out of his hand, his palms sweaty as Richie circles around his loosening rim. Eddie bucks his hips to get closer. Richie’s mop of hair looks ridiculous, pressed tight under Eddie’s curved, leaking dick; Eddie wants to come all over him. 

Fuck, he can already tell this isn’t going to be enough. Shoving at Richie’s shoulder, he whines when his fingers dislodge.

“Let me sit on you.” 

Richie’s eyes light up, his tongue still poking out from under his crooked teeth. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, I can focus better that way.” 

Richie’s eyes roll. “Oh yeah, thanks, what a compliment,” he says, but sits down politely when Eddie gets up. Eddie feels his fingers prod him open, slicking him up further, so he takes the chance to line up and push back almost immediately. 

“Rich, help me out here,” he says when it sticks in the wrong spot, focused more on the screen. 

Richie’s throat catches around a laugh. Eddie’s ass slithers around him, rolling in uneven circles trying to find the give. 

“You seriously can’t tell where—”

“I’m sorry I have no visibility, dude, I told you I was going—”

“—okay, okay, you’re good, you can sit, oh _fuck_ ,” Richie groans, spreading his hands around the meat of Eddie’s hips, his fingers digging in to signal Eddie can lower down further. 

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. “That’s good.” 

“Hng, baby, _unf_ god, you’re so tight.” 

It stretches him just right, the flared head dragging close to his prostate as Richie pulls him up and lets him float back down. Eddie breathes through it, letting it settle inside him, relaxing his limbs and his stomach until he can zero back in on the screen. When he reaches forward to grab the controller again, Richie hisses at the shift in position.

“You’re still— oh _fuck_.” 

“I fucking _told_ you.” Eddie hits the button so the dormant TV lights back up. “Now sit still.”

Richie emits a bastardized whine. “Sit—”

“Sit _still_.” 

Eddie starts another level. It’s the precursor to the boss level, with another whole stint up the fake-Donkey mountain left afterward. He knows he could feasibly keep Richie here a _while_. Only a minute later, Richie starts squirming underneath him. 

“You tryin’ to make me mad?” Eddie asks, and Richie’s head hits the space right between Eddie’s shoulder-blades. 

“You’re really not gonna let me move?” 

Eddie smiles. “What do you think _sit still_ means?” 

Richie huffs an incredulous laugh, like the reality of his situation is finally hitting him. He circles his hips the slightest bit, enough to drive Richie crazy, but barely enough to shift his cock inside. Eddie feels full; happy and dirty and really fucking slutty. He’s not about to let this end without getting what he wants. 

So Eddie sits. And stays. And plays. 

Richie whines occasionally. Kisses at the back of Eddie’s neck. Slides up Eddie’s shirt so he can see where he’s buried inside. Reaches around to jerk Eddie off when it gets too much. Eddie clenches to get him to stop, so he goes back to panting a hot, damp line into Eddie’s spine.

After the fifth level, Eddie’s on a fucking _roll_. Richie’s always saying his dick is good luck, and Eddie’s starting to think he’s right. But Richie’s starting to gasp impatiently. 

“I really— I want to—”

“You’re such a baby.” Eddie looks to the giant clock on the wall. Ben bought it to keep Richie and Eddie from fighting, since Richie used to complain the one on the stove was too small, and Eddie told him to get up or use his phone, and it consistently descended into madness from there. “It’s barely been twenty minutes.” 

Richie whimpers. Eddie rocks his hips slowly; he’s confident in his time management, and he has at least three more hours until he has to start on his reading for the evening. But before he pauses the game altogether, he leans back against Richie’s chest. 

Richie’s arms come up to circle around him, pulling them tighter together. He still doesn’t fuck up. Eddie’s almost proud. 

“So have you used that lube with Ben?” 

Eddie pairs it with a twist into Richie’s lap. Richie’s breath puffs against the shell of Eddie’s ear. 

“Wh— what?” 

“The lube out here.” Another twist. Push down. “Is that what it was for?” 

“Uh.” Richie pinches Eddie’s nipple through his shirt, and Eddie’s stomach clenches. “No, I mean, I used it for jerking off.” 

Eddie whips his body around, punctuating it with grinding backward on Richie’s dick. 

“You jerk off out here?” 

Eddie watches Richie’s head fall back, his throat working as his face goes red. “Sometimes!”

“Huh.” Eddie’s honestly more surprised than taken aback. The three of them blew each other out here just the other day. “What if someone walked in on you?” 

Richie’s shoulder shrugs up to his ear. The flush creeps further across his cheeks. 

Eddie contorts his body further.

“You _wanted_ someone to walk in on you.” 

Richie throws a hand up. “I thought it would be interesting to film, okay? A spontaneous— like— _ooh, someone walks in on me touching myself and then oh no!_ ” His eyes go wide. “ _Now that person is fucking me into the couch just like I imagined!”_ His mouth drops open in fake-shock. 

Eddie considers it. “Fuck yeah, that’d be hot.” He lifts up an inch on Richie’s cock. “We should set that up sometime.” 

“It has to be spur of the _moment_.” 

Eddie laughs, pushing down. “Dude, it’s porn.” 

Richie’s hands squeeze at his hip bones. He drags sticky fingers along the crease of Eddie’s thigh. He reaches down to tug at Eddie’s balls. But Eddie wants to try something. He slides down on Richie’s dick again, then back up. 

“So if Ben had walked in—” 

“Mmmm, mhm?” 

“And slid down between your knees,” Eddie keeps going, rising up and pressing down, his knees rubbing together as he uses the ground for leverage.

“ _Shit_ , Eds.” 

“What would you do?” 

Richie gasps. “I’d— I— _why_?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and picks up speed. He thinks about it, too. Slipping his boxers off in the middle of his game. Ben walking in the front door. Seeing Eddie with a slick hand around his cock. Bending down to kiss at his thighs, his pubes, mouthing at his balls, all while he watches Eddie jerk himself off. Or maybe—

“Would you ask him to eat you out?” He feels Richie twitch against him. “He could throw your legs over his shoulders like you just did to me?”

“I— oh _fuck_.” 

Eddie bounces faster. He was hoping Richie would do more work here, but he’s content to keep up the bulk of the fucking as long as Richie eventually gives in. So Eddie keeps going. Falls forward, elbows to his knees, and groans out more questions. Keeps driving further into the fantasy. For both of them. 

“Did you want him to fuck you on the couch? Like he couldn’t do the other day?” He hears Richie’s intake of breath and laughs. “I bet he’d do it. I bet he’d love it. You always get so fucking desperate for it after I put my tongue in your ass.” 

“Eddie,” Richie moans. Eddie can feel him shaking, the sweat gathering between where their thighs keep colliding. Eddie sets a steady grind, the most he can do while keeping his concentration. 

“You know how good Ben’s cock is. Imagine it all to yourself.” 

Eddie does. Eddie _is_. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ , I can’t— can I—” 

“Yeah you can, baby, you can let him fuck you, take that dick like you do mine, like you do his when we’re together,” Eddie rambles, mouth watering at the feel of Richie moving in and out of him, at the image of Ben doing the same to Richie, to _him_ , on the same couch.

“No, no, no,” whines Richie, “can I— I want to—”

Eddie blinks through the fog and realizes Richie is asking to move. He’s been _waiting to move_. 

“Richie, fuck me, yeah, you can—”

And Richie rockets off the couch, throwing Eddie head-first into the stocky coffee table; luckily, Eddie’s hands react quicker than his brain, bracing himself against the wood. His head bobs between his legs, and he sees Richie spread his feet on the rug to start bouncing Eddie on his cock. 

“Oh, fuck, oh, oh, fuck, fuck, yes,” Eddie’s punching out, following Richie’s crooked thrusts, flicking hard over his own cock, “fuck me how you want Ben to fuck you, fuck me like that—” 

“Eddie, god, _fuck,_ I love you.”

"Love you too, love you fucking me."

The pleasure zings through every avenue of Eddie's brain. Fat droplets of sweat fall onto his back, sliding down in lines over his ribs, their skin slapping in the quiet of the room. The Donkey Kong death march song plays in staticky loops on the screen, but Eddie hardly notices when Richie’s railing him like this, thinking of Ben doing the same to him, thinking of Ben’s hips and thighs and tongue and beautiful— cock— oh _fuck_ —

“I’m— Richie you’re gonna make me come— keep going, keep _going_ —”

A laugh spills from Richie’s lips, high and tight. “I’m going. Fucking come for me.” 

“You gonna,” pants Eddie, bent on the game but losing the thread, “you gonna come in Ben, too? You gonna fill him up like you always fill me up?” 

“Yeah, Eddie, yes, yes—”

Eddie pumps himself harder. Drips onto the table. Ignores the imminent stain. 

“Do it, fill me— fuckin’ fill him up, Richie—”

“Yeah, gonna come so fucking hard, keep— oh fuck you look so fucking good—”

Richie bellows loudly as he comes — he’s shaking, and shivering, and forcing Eddie back and forth. Eddie desperately fucks his own fist to meet him, relishing in the deep, wet noises as Richie pounds him, holding himself up with one quivering arm against the table. 

“ _Richie_ , Richie keep fucking me,” Eddie moans, chasing his own orgasm as he feels Richie’s start to calm. He focuses hard on twisting his hand over the head of his cock, imagining Ben deep inside Richie, or Ben holding his ass open for Richie, or Richie’s tongue slipping over Ben’s cock, or Ben pressing _Eddie_ down onto the rug and throwing Eddie’s legs over his shoulders and that does it: thinking of how good Ben can make him feel, how good Richie is making him feel, how good they all make each other feel, no matter who is doing what.

He comes hard and punishing while Richie sluggishly tries to keep his pace, while Richie’s hips hit his again and again.

“Eds…” Richie sighs, reaching around to stroke at Eddie’s cock as he spills on the table, on his hand, and then on Richie’s, cupped gently around him. “Shit, you came so much.”

A hand lands back on Eddie’s hip, soothing softly over the bone, then pulling him back onto the couch to come down. 

They breath together, the droning sound of the Super Nintendo buzzing in their ears as it soldiers on. 

“So,” Eddie says, pinching at the meat of Richie’s thigh, then tugging at a piece of hair there, “you and Ben, huh?” 

It’s not the most subtle return to the conversation, but Eddie is more fucked-out than he planned on being when he broached this topic. 

Richie laughs anyway. “Me, you, _and_ Ben, if I remember correctly.” 

Eddie reaches for his boxers on the floor, the crust of drying come starting to bother him.

“Yeah, but you two could also…” He flicks his fingers in front of his face, trying to allude to what they were just discussing. Richie shrugs.

“We _do_ , Eds, you’ve fuckin’ seen us.” 

“But alone?” He squints as Richie looks away. “You two could spend time alone, you know.” 

Richie bites his lip. Points at Eddie. “Do _you_ two spend time alone?” 

Fuck. Caught in his own trap. 

“No…” he bites out reluctantly, “... but we _could_.” 

Richie smiles, wide and toothy, and Eddie knows he’s lost. 

“Yeah, well, hit me up when that happens, Eds.” Richie heads to the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

“You coming?” Richie calls. Eddie looks back to the television.

At least there’s still Donkey Kong.

  
  
  
  
  


It’s hard to blame a child for wasted time — but Eddie has managed to make the leap. He figures it doesn’t make him as much of an asshole if the child was him. 

Most of his adolescence and childhood were stained by his mother’s control over him; he spent so many days inside her dark, dingy, paranoid world in order to placate her, to keep her happy despite the fact that the very presence of her made him miserable in turn. But when you’re a child — at least, when _Eddie_ was a child — his mother was the most important person in his life. He had no discerning qualities, of course, he was a _child_. But it wasn’t until high school that he realized most people were supposed to have _positive_ feelings about important people in their lives. And, in the same, unfamiliar vein, that most people loved their parents. 

Eddie felt a lot of things for his mother he may have called love. Before he knew what love actually felt like. 

There were inklings of it through school. The English teacher who gave him extra chocolate bars even though she knew his mother would disapprove of even one. The boy, Ralph, he befriended in kindergarten who would always play dominoes with him during recess despite clearly wanting to go outside. The _other_ boy, David, from high school, who copied off of his papers and ignored him in the hallways between classes but always followed him home after school; who gave him a sip of whiskey from a shiny gold flask behind his mother’s rose bushes so no one would see; who told him he was _smart_ and _strong_ and _really fucking cool_ , and even though Eddie sees it now for what it was — a trick and a con to keep his grades up enough to get out of his dead-end town — Eddie felt it deep in his soul. 

The pieces of love he felt were enough to snap the band of control his mother kept around him, but they didn’t fit together well enough to make him feel _worthy_. For years he chided himself for the waste; the years he spent clinging to any semblance of things that made him feel good when the absence was so profound for so long. Now it’s like there’s someone to love him everywhere he turns. Constantly. From all angles. And it’s great; it’s being wrapped in a warm blanket after being stuck in the arctic. But he’s still shaking off the cold. 

And he’s no longer in the business of wasting any time. So he sits them all down, around their perfect kitchen table, the fourth chair added after Richie found a matching one at a garage sale over the summer and nearly busted the door down getting it inside, and takes a deep breath.

“So let’s get this started,” Eddie says, slamming himself into a chair. Everyone stares, and it’s only then he realizes that makes no sense out of context. 

Eddie does this a lot, actually, and it’s mostly because there’s a running dialogue happening in his brain at any given moment. Sometimes when he starts talking, it’s really halfway through a thought, and whoever is around has to play a very confusing game of catch-up. Usually that person is Richie, who changes the topic to something else entirely, and they end up in a mangled, quasimodo-esque conversation. 

“Let’s talk.” Eddie clears his throat. “About us.” 

Richie’s left eye squints. “Us?” He points between himself and Eddie.

“No,” Eddie says quick. Richie’s face falls. “I mean, yes,” he backtracks. Takes another breath. “I mean… all of us.” 

“Is everything okay?” Ben asks, reaching a hand out toward him.

Richie’s eyebrows arch. “Yeah, is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Eddie insists, needing to get back on track. He gathers himself and starts again. “I just think we need to keep communication open is all.” He looks to Bev. “Be on the same page.” 

She nods, leaning forward to press her elbows to the table. It’s familiar, her “listening” pose, as Richie calls it, and suddenly Eddie feels safe, surrounded by all three of them, ready to work through whatever he’s about to put before them. After a night of homework, writing a paper, spiraling mentally, eating a whole pot of mac and cheese by himself, venting to Richie about his Civil Procedure professor’s inability to look past his ego to the detriment of his students, and then rewriting said paper, Eddie is ready to focus on his relationship. And nothing but. 

“Well we’re all here for ya, Eds,” Richie says, spreading his fingers to encompass the table.

Eddie shrugs. “I just wanna keep being honest.”

“Honesty is important,” Bev agrees. She grabs at Ben’s hand, and his cheeks pink. “We all need to be on the same page if any of this is going to work.”

“But isn’t it working?” Richie asks, his fingers jittering against his naked thigh. It’s his day off this time, and that means he’s probably not going to be wearing anything other than his obnoxiously yellow Big Bird shirt and boxers all day long. “I mean, I’m pretty fuckin’ happy just living with you guys, and doing the show. And the sex is like— the fucking _best_.” 

“Yeah, it’s really good,” Ben agrees. Bev smacks lightly at his hand.

“You know Eddie probably isn’t talking about the sex, right?” 

Three sets of eyes turn to look at him. Eddie’s mouth pops open.

“It’s not… _all_ I’m talking about.” 

Richie cackles. Ben’s cheeks get impossibly pinker. Bev huffs a bit, brushing her hair out of her face. She tucks her leg under her thigh and starts to draw a square on the table with her finger. 

“I’ve been reading, and shit gets _complicated_ when four people are involved.” She traces back over the square, again and again. 

Eddie almost gasps. “You’ve been reading about it?” 

She shrugs. “The internet exists for a reason.” 

“I’m not sure _that’s_ the reason,” Richie laughs, but Eddie’s heart lights up. Eddie knows this is why he and Bev are such good friends: their commitment to what they find important. That and their affinity for strong, sweet men. Men who love them unconditionally, but fall too deeply into their own emotional traps to communicate their way of out it. But their commitment to Richie and Ben hold them close together, too. 

Ben, whose eyes are cast down on the table, his feet shuffling against the floor. 

And Richie, who’s shaking his head, pulling fingers through his mane of hair. 

“All of this is a little… weird, right?” he says, breathlessly. Eddie can feel Richie’s stress level climbing, though he’s not sure why. “It’s gonna take awhile to get the hang of it.” 

“Of course,” Bev agrees. “But there are like, a million questions we could be asking that we haven’t even discussed. Are we going to have primary relationships? Is that what we’re already doing? Are we allowed to have sex with people other than our primaries if they’re not there? Are some of us just platonic with each other?”

She stares at them all expectantly. Richie exhales heavily. 

“No offense, Beverly, but, unfortunately, I think you’re probably occupying most of the platonic side of things.” 

Eddie nods. 

“Not _super_ unfortunate,” Bev says, sticking out her tongue playfully. 

“Stop fucking flirting with me, Marsh,” Richie says, pressing a thumb to his nose and wiggling his fingers back at her. 

“Oh, you _wish_ —”

“Don’t make me start the tickle fights!” Richie yelps as Bev pokes at his arm, so Eddie shoves a hand between them before things escalate. He appreciates Richie and Bev’s calming-via-teasing technique, but Ben has yet to speak up; in fact, he’s been all but silent, with wide eyes and tapping fingers. 

Eddie extends his leg under the table to slide it against Ben’s. 

“You okay, Haystack?” Richie asks, instead.

“It’s just…” Ben leans back in his chair, puffing out his cheeks. “...that’s a lot to consider.” 

Bev’s hand finds Ben’s. “We can’t be afraid to talk about these things.”

“And to admit that we might not know what we want yet,” Eddie adds, grabbing for Richie’s knee under the table. Richie looks up at him, eyes a little watery. Eddie relishes the comfort he finds inherent in the four of them, all connected. 

“We should set expectations for like, needs and wants within the relationship,” Bev says, shaking at Ben’s hand. Ben tries a small smile, clearly still hesitant. 

“What if we—” Ben starts, his face puffing a little red, like he’s trying to find the right words. He’s always so considerate, almost to a fault; Eddie knows he’ll often keep things inside to avoid hurting others, even if it means he has the bear the brunt of whatever he’s feeling. “What if we hurt each other?” 

Richie snorts, the noise loud and startling. “There’s four of us, I think that’s a sure bet.” 

Eddie’s startled even further at that sentiment. Realistic, perhaps, but still… bleak. 

“No I mean,” Ben huffs, clenching his eyes shut. “What if what we want doesn’t match up with what the other person wants? Or other _people_ want? What if we’re all… uneven?” 

They all take a second to let that settle. 

Eddie’s considered it; of course he has. He’s spent almost an entire year watching them fuck, and suck, and kiss, and then fuck again, in so many different positions and iterations he’s lost count. He knows how Ben and Richie look, how they _sound_ , when they’re together. How gentle they are with each other, how long Ben takes to open Richie up, how sweetly they’ll clean each other up in the aftermath. He knows a little bit of it with Bev and Ben, too, from the times he’s seen them together. Them exploring the more emotional side of things does seem a bit daunting. 

What if Richie decides Ben is a much calmer, much _easier_ partner to have? What if he weighs his options and Eddie’s left in the dust? What if Ben and Bev leave altogether? What if Bev decides she isn’t alright with sharing Ben? What if once everyone gets the chance to really consider it—

The hair on Eddie’s arm pulls against the grain, and he realizes it’s Richie, sliding his fingers through it to get his attention. When their eyes meet, Richie smiles, and Eddie’s heart pulls. Apparently he’s not _all_ pessimism and predicted pain. 

Eddie bites at the inside of his cheek. Tries to merge together everything from the last few days. 

“Maybe we should, like,” he starts, the idea bumping impatiently at the tip of his tongue, “spend some time alone?” 

“Alone?” asks Richie. “Isn’t that kind of the opposite of—”

“No, like. Together,” Eddie says.

Ben frowns. Repeats, “Alone… together.” Bev wriggles a bit in her chair.

“Oh, like hanging out in different—” She mashes her hands together, then pulls them apart. Finishes in some lazy form of jazz hands. 

“Are we back on the sex again?” Richie asks. It breaks Ben’s nervous shell, a smile pulling at his lips, and that makes Eddie cough out a laugh. Bev crosses her arms while she watches the three of them. 

“No, you perv,” she says, though Eddie hears her resolve tipping toward the table of idiots before her, the crack in her voice a betrayal to her stone-cold face. “Like switching it all up. Hanging out with each other in all sorts of combinations.” 

Eddie likes the sound of that — perfectly healthy relationship behavior. Adult, even. _Mature_. Yes, Eddie is rather proud of himself for first conceiving of it, even if Bev put the final pieces together. He makes a mental note to tell his therapist about this, and also go over game plans for potential avenues of emotional disaster: he’s being optimistic, not clueless. 

“Still sounds kinky to me,” Richie mumbles, so Eddie smacks him this time.

“I’m not saying we need to write dates down on a calendar or anything,” Eddie says, though that does sound fun, and less confusing, and maybe a bit more equal, but he’s not about to let that idea balloon carry him away. “We just need to let it happen. See where it goes.” 

“We _could_ do dates, though,” says Ben, his voice quiet and steady. When Eddie turns, Ben’s staring right at him, eyes insistent and prying. A bolt of interest travels all the way through Eddie’s body, warming him one inch at a time.

“We could,” Eddie agrees. “Might take a little while to get it all, uh.” 

“Figured out,” Ben finishes. 

Eddie swallows. “Right.” 

Eddie tears his eyes away from Ben to watch Richie’s throat work, his eyes glassy, and it’s like they’re transported to a year ago: sitting around this table, discovering what they wanted, having it without considering the consequences. It’s not exactly like starting over, not with how far the four of them have already gone. But it’s… it’s a start. 

“Well,” Richie says, smirking, pressing his knee further into Eddie’s hand, “we’ll just have to take our time.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you're enjoying the show! No idea when the next chapter will be out but hopefully soon, I'm just having fun as it goes :)
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	2. he wouldn't be alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all made an agreement to do this together, to be equal partners in what they’re doing, and not leave each other in the lurch. The lingering emotions don’t really matter when they’re on camera: this is their job. And maybe that makes it feel safer. In the confines of this fictional-porn world they’ve created for themselves, no one tells Ben he “shouldn’t worry so much” or that he’s “just fine” or that he’ll “never find someone willing to stoop to his level.” 
> 
> It’s just that things have started to… change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there! You may have noticed the chapter count of this story has gone up to 6. This is because I've done a little re-tooling, and also decided not to limit myself. Honestly, it might eventually go up even further. These four have a lot to do and I think it's fair to say I want to give them as much time as possible to do it in. 
> 
> This chapter is a Ben POV, and really, there's no telling who will be next. 
> 
> In sum: Eddie and Ben go on a date!
> 
> TW: some food talk, some brief fatphobia talk throughout, discussion of Eddie's mother being controlling about his eating habits and Ben's experience with food.

Ben always used to say that shooting days were his favorites.

It’s always been a rather well-kept secret, amongst… himself. And over the year plus that Ben’s lived with Eddie and Richie (and now Bev), it’s remained true, even if the reasons have shifted. 

At first, the thrill of Richie and Eddie actually _agreeing_ to film blasted him mentally past the secrecy of his true intentions, even if he didn’t exactly know what those were. One long night, a bottle of red wine from his mom for his birthday, and a rabbit-hole internet search later, he’d found an interesting money-making opportunity he never thought he’d suggest aloud, much less be putting into action a few months later. Rooming with two friends, much less two objectively hot guys, was a dream come true. 

When he found Bev, it was like he was constantly floating on air. 

A few weeks in, after weeks of sleeping in separate rooms each night, she told him she trusted him more than any man she’d ever known. He told her he made money fucking his friends online for strangers. She asked him about a dozen questions, purely curious. He answered all of them, nervously optimistic and freed in his honesty. She rode him frantically into the headboard.

He fell in love almost immediately. 

And Richie and Eddie… He would’ve been lucky for it to happen just the once. But it kept going. And going. 

After that, it became about being close. Getting to know each other in a different way — in a way Ben had never known any of his friends. Laughing and touching each other; giving each other pleasure and figuring each other out; connecting with people in a way he had never done before. 

He fell in love slowly, but surely; quietly, but confidently. 

After the truth broke open, Bev started joining them. It morphed into about his three favorite people in the world, all together, all at once, learning how to shift their focus. And even if that focus wasn’t totally on Ben, he loved watching them together. He loved watching the people he loved love each other. 

And the sex doesn’t hurt. 

Ben has had some sex in his life; he’d be a fool not to take it where he could get it, as his buddies in high school used to tell him — before he grew up and realized they were all selfish, self-centered idiots who would abandon him as soon as they got the chance. He gathered them in a desperate attempt to have someone other than his mother to talk to, once they moved into the new town and he realized his mother had her own slew of issues to deal with. Single motherhood, paying the bills, hiding from the rest of her family. Most of them were insistent on being in her and Ben’s life, but constantly made degrading comments about them when they thought he couldn’t hear (and sometimes when they _knew_ he could). Ben’s weight, his mother’s lack of manly prospects, and Ben’s lack of womanly prospects. What kind of girl would want a chubby boy who sat in his room all night reading history books? 

Turns out, not many people, for a long while. But “taking it where he could get it” always felt… degrading in a different way. Ben didn’t want to lose his virginity for the tall tales; he wanted to lose it because of love. But he certainly wasn’t going to say _that_ out loud. So he lost it in a hurry, in a rushed meeting of what he assumes was a mutually beneficial date with a long-time acquaintance. Afterward she lit up a cigarette and told him he “did fine,” and “shouldn’t worry so much about it.” He couldn’t get the smell out of the curtains for a year. 

But mostly, Ben loves shooting days because knows what he signed up for. There are shifts and changes, don’t get him wrong. On most evenings, they have plans— but then someone puts their mouth, or hands, or _dick_ somewhere they weren’t expecting and all of them gladly roll with the punches. Though in general, with some emotional bumps in the road, he knows what to expect.

They all made an agreement to do this together, to be equal partners in what they’re doing, and not leave each other in the lurch. The lingering emotions don’t really matter when they’re on camera: this is their _job_. And maybe that makes it feel safer. In the confines of this fictional-porn world they’ve created for themselves, no one tells Ben he “shouldn’t worry so much” or that he’s “just fine” or that he’ll “never find someone willing to stoop to his level.” 

It’s just that things have started to… change. 

Their after-filming routine has always rotated, depending on their schedules. Before Bev, Ben used to go back to his room alone, watch over the footage, edit and post, feeling slightly empty. It reminded him of being a kid again, waiting months and months for his birthday— for the party his mother promised him, and then spending the whole day after marinating in sadness. Post-event blues. All that anticipation and excitement needs to go somewhere in the aftermath. Sometimes he and the boys would hang out, but the sheen of their time spent together faded quick. He was reminded of their true intentions as friends as they traded manly barbs and avoided overly fond touches just in case someone got the wrong idea.

(Turns out it was all the right idea, after all.)

Bev afforded him the possibility of cushioning the resulting crash. She’d sweep him up and tease him, make him smile, bend him back to emotional stability. But after everything evened out completely, after Richie and Eddie got together, after the four of them became… something— that’s when Ben started taking a shine to non-shooting days, too. 

They all touch each other pretty openly now. They all have their moments — some more comfortable than the others — of unexpected intimacy that sneaks up from one direction or another. Someone kisses someone else; someone’s hand is on someone’s knee; someone made eye contact with someone else while they were inside yet _another_ someone. 

And after their conversation last week about further clarifying, he’s felt a buzz in the air. They all keep sticking around, hovering with each other, staring after touches, each of them heavy in their intentions and thoughts. They’re all waiting for someone else to make a move— to set an expectation they’re excited to fulfill. At least that’s how Ben sees it: the thrum of anticipation and excitement is coursing through him again, if it ever went away to begin with. 

Unfortunately, after shooting, he’s usually more than a little dick drunk. So when Eddie pulls him aside, he truly doesn’t see it coming. 

Eddie’s eyes are dropped low, working fingers around the button of his jeans when he asks, “Do you wanna go get coffee or something?” 

And Ben just sort of… blinks. 

He’s stuck on the fluffed up patch of hair on the back of Eddie’s head, where Richie had carded his hand through it. Eddie was bringing Ben down from his first orgasm of the night, licking softly around his wet cock, his fingers still lodged in deep where his own dick had just been. Bev had finished the second job, but Ben had repaid her nicely with two concentrated, circling fingers of his own, a mouth latched to her nipple, while Richie and Eddie went at it in the corner for the cameras. 

So that probably lends to the lack of brain space Ben currently has for problem-solving. Or, like, simple comprehension, apparently. That, and the scarlet red hickey blooming on Eddie’s shoulder. 

But he’s not sure why Eddie’s asking him to get— 

“—coffee? Like—”

“Yeah, just you and me,” Eddie clarifies. He straightens his spine, stretching his arms one at a time. His face is easy, slack, and Ben’s eyes catch on the drying streak of come still stuck to his chin. Must be Richie’s, because he came all over Bev. Richie probably pulled out soon after milking Eddie dry, jerked himself over Eddie’s face, panting hard while Eddie’s mouth popped open, begging for—

Okay, not the point. He swallows and focuses up. Richie laughs somewhere in the room.

“Oh, uh.” He feels his face heating, which is stupid, this is a simple conversation, a simple question, which is probably why Eddie is staring at him like that, his eyebrows slowly pulling together, that pinch forming between them. It’s really cute, and that brings Ben back to his initial thought. 

But not fast enough. He’s never fast enough for Eddie. 

“Didn’t think it was a hard question, but if you don’t want to—”

“No, no, it’s not that, I uh. Is this.” Ben looks around, dropping his voice low so Bev and Richie can’t hear, though they’re just giggling in the corner at something in the video, maybe when Richie slid halfway off the bed while Eddie was eating him out. Ben can already see the bruise forming on his right pec from where he hit the edge of the mattress frame. Or maybe that’s a hickey, too. “Is this… a date?” 

Eddie’s teeth peek through a smile. “Yeah, I thought so.” 

“Oh.” Ben frowns, shuffling his feet. This wasn’t what he had imagined when they talked about _dating_. “Then no, I think I’d rather hang out here tonight.” 

Eddie’s face falls. “...no?” 

“No,” Ben reiterates. Eddie’s lips start to purse. Bev cackles when Richie pushes her back onto the bed. 

“I don’t—”

“Our date is going to be more than getting _coffee_ together, Eddie.” Ben takes a step forward. Eddie leans back, like he’s going to get away but thinks better of it. “We get coffee together all the time.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, like, on the way to class, or before work real fast, but not like—”

“We’re going to dinner.”

Eddie’s eyes bug. Oh, this is _fun_. No wonder Richie teases Eddie so much. The little puffs of red skittering across his cheeks, the flicks of his tongue against his lips, the rapid shifts in the muscles around his eyes. Ben almost looks away, his stomach flooded with butterflies at the very thought of taking this cute boy out on a date. 

Ben’s dated — he’s dated Bev, to be exact. But he’s never taken Richie or Eddie out. And that’s what they’re supposed to be doing, right? Figuring this all out? Taking each other out? Ben’s certainly not going to let Eddie get away with a hit and run coffee date. He’s going _all out_. He wants this. He wants to sweep Eddie off his feet. He wants to impress him, kiss him, love him up. He wants to do it without cameras. 

He wants to run his tongue gently down the center of Eddie’s chest; he wants to hear Eddie gasp and moan and plead, all for him. He wants to wipe the floundering look off Eddie’s face. 

“You want to take me to dinner?” Eddie finally asks. Ben’s heart flips in his chest. 

“Of course I do. It’s— we’re going on a date, man. I wanna get to know you.” 

Eddie blushes all the way down to his bellybutton. Ben’s whole stomach rolls. Holy shit, he’s in _deep_. How could Eddie think he doesn’t want as much time as _possible_? 

“You already know me pretty well,” says Eddie, mostly to the floor. Ben shifts a little closer, suddenly feeling like he’s pressing his luck. But Eddie doesn’t move an inch when Ben gets into his space. 

“I could know you better.” 

A laugh bursts from Eddie’s throat. His eyes flick to where Bev and Richie are wrapped up in each other on the bed, then back to Ben’s face. 

“Well that’s really fucking hard to say no to,” Eddie sputters. He ghosts a hand over the hem of his jeans, and Ben’s eyes find his hips, his thighs, his dick. “ _You’re_ really hard to say no to.” 

The air leaves Ben’s lungs before he can take a second to pause and collect himself. The sentiment is so foreign, so soft and warm in its fond incredulity that Ben’s overcome with a desire to pull Eddie into a hug. Elation swells his chest. 

“Never heard that before,” he says, off-handedly. Eddie’s face pinches hard. Ben spooks until Eddie grits his teeth.

“Well fuck _that_ ,” he spits, reaching for Ben’s hand. Light headed, Ben shimmies forward into him, knocking knuckles against the center of his chest. Eddie answers by palming over Ben’s hip, which makes Ben want to kiss him, but the other two are still here, and maybe they wouldn’t mind but that’s— they’re still working that out.

 _I want to kiss Eddie, even if no one else is watching_ , Ben notes to himself. 

Then he wonders if he should actually write these things down to bring to the group. He turns back to see if Richie and Bev are in fact watching, but they’re still on the bed, Richie’s hand pinning Bev’s wrist down as they grin, Bev’s leg flung over top of his, distracted with soft conversation, and Ben has another note already.

 _I want to watch how Bev and Richie touch each other_. 

“Dinner,” Eddie repeats quietly, snapping Ben’s attention back. 

“Yeah, dinner.” 

“It’d have to be tomorrow — I have so much fucking reading to do. And two night classes.” He gets that weary, slack look on his face, the one Ben knows means he’s tired just thinking about his schedule. “I’ll be lucky if I get time for a granola bar tonight.” 

“Then I’ll have to make up for it tomorrow,” Ben tells him, already imagining the perfect place.

“Somewhere, like, fancy?” Eddie asks. His forehead is a tapestry of wrinkles. Ben wants to kiss there, too. He could, after their date.

 _Expectations_ , he thinks. He bites at the inside of his cheek and pushes through the resounding _no_ already bouncing around his head. 

“As long as I can kiss you after,” he says, awash with fear. But Eddie just laughs. 

“You better do more than that.” 

Eddie moves impossibly closer. Ben feels the heat bucking off him. He wants to wrap his arms around him. The hesitation feels absurd in light of where they just were: Eddie pressed deep inside of him, slapping his ass as they moved the bed across the room, chewing a steady line into the skin of his spine. Now Ben is blushing at the tangle of their fingers over one another. That work and life divide is vast.

Ben jerks his chin over his shoulder, toward where Richie is snorting in Bev’s face. “Think he’d be okay with that?” 

Eddie’s eyes follow, then flick back to Ben’s. “Would _she_?” he says, meaning Bev.

Ben turns fully then, breathing steady, ignoring the wild thumping of his heart to convince himself this is fine. He promised Bev he’d start to ask for more; he promised he’d “use his words,” and the request reminded him so completely of Richie that it almost startled him to discover he probably has a type. 

“Hey guys?” Ben says quietly to the greater room. 

Richie and Bev face him then, wild smiles and shining eyes. Bev’s red hair is fanned out onto the mattress, and Ben wants to sidle up next to her, maybe pull Richie down over her to make out while she breathes heavy between them. His heart pangs with the dissection of love he feels, and then he turns back to Eddie and feels hollowed out and filled back up in completion. 

“Eddie and I are gonna go out to dinner tomorrow night,” he says. Richie’s eyebrows jump, then slide back down, his jaw still set in a grin. “But we thought we might wanna set some ground rules with you two first.” 

“Can we fuck?” Eddie asks, straight out. Every blood vessel in Ben’s face bursts, but Richie’s already chortling, and Ben wonders if there was even a reprieve between jokes. 

“You _just_ fucked!” Richie yelps, releasing Bev so they can both sit up.

“That’s not an answer. We _all_ just fucked,” Ben hears Eddie say, but he’s buried deep in his hands, waiting out the shock of embarrassment currently unfurling in his stomach.

“Is this a better to ask forgiveness than permission thing or something?” Richie asks.

Ben hears Bev stage-whisper, “I think they’re talking about _after their date_.” 

“Ohhhh, asking the parents for the car keys and access to the condom bowl, I see how it is,” Richie answers. “But need I remind you that Ms. Marsh and I will be using the Jolly Green Giant this weekend, so you’ll have to find other transportation methods.”

“We don’t need to ask your—” Eddie shakes his head, his hands finding his hips. “We can take the train. But yes, we’re asking your permission, or like. Opinions? Thoughts. What the fuck do you think, I don’t know, we just asked you.” 

Richie falls apart in laughter. 

Ben lifts his head to see Bev’s own tipped down at him, both she and Richie now up off the bed. Her eyes are squinty and tight; he can already hear her making fun of him later. _Why are you so nervous to ask?? You just had your hands all over them! Eddie wants it, too! He literally_ asked _you_. Then she’d shove him at the shoulder, kiss his cheeks, and steal one of the peppers he’s chopping for the stir fry.

“We don’t want to do anything either of you are uncomfortable with,” Ben says, summoning the courage of a post-Bev teasing without the adorable trouble of the actual follow-through. “And I think we’d probably have a bit more fun on the date if we knew we weren’t going to cross a line.” 

“Considering what we just did, I don’t think that’s a problem for me,” says Bev, glaring over at Richie until his laughter dries up. Ben sees Eddie’s arm cross over his chest where they’re standing next to each other. He can tell Eddie’s a little nervous; he’s not sure how much conversation Richie and Eddie have had about dating the others— even if Ben practically propositioned Eddie a few days ago. But Richie’s a sensitive person. And he’s not good at being completely forthcoming about his feelings, especially if he thinks holding them back is in the best interest of one of them. _Especially_ if the “one of them” is Eddie. 

It’s self-sacrificial with a side of pouting. Ben knows it all too well; seeing it put into action against him has been eye-opening to say the least. Ben knows Richie loves each of them as friends, but Eddie is special. Richie’s in _love_ with Eddie, and that’s what sets them apart. Richie’s alluded to it in the past, in relation to Ben, but Ben doesn’t put a whole lot of stock in it. They were all caught up in the emotions of it being new. He wouldn’t blame Richie for regretting saying that; he hasn’t said it since. 

“I think the question is…” Richie starts, now calmer, now straight-faced, and Ben’s hands clench around the pause until Richie’s broad smile sets something loose, “...do we have a sufficient sock-on-the-door policy?” 

At first, Eddie’s whole body tenses in the face of the joke, and Ben worries things are about to get serious. But then Eddie’s face scrunches up in consideration. Bev smirks, and Ben coughs out a laugh. It relaxes the steel rod of nerves that had collected up his spine. Then Eddie leans forward, closing the circle between the four of them, his hands finding Richie around the middle, skating up his back in question.

“And what exactly is the opposite of the sock on the door?” Eddie murmurs. 

Richie’s eyes go wide, catching Ben’s, and the steel rod now feels like melted mercury flowing through his whole body. 

He sputters an, “uhhhhh—” until Bev clears her throat.

“I was wondering the same thing.” 

Richie and Ben exchange another cooler, more confused set of glances; Ben’s glad he’s not the only one a few steps behind, even if he’s fully willing to fall in line as quickly as possible. 

“I mean, we need two sets of signals, right?” Eddie says calmly, while Bev nods her agreement. “One that means _it’s okay to approach_ and one that means _we don’t want any visitors_.” 

“And it won’t apply this weekend,” Bev reminds them, winking at Richie. “You two will have the place to yourselves.” 

“Yes, Beverly and I are off onto our great American road trip,” Richie agrees, his face evening out. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You’re driving to Wisconsin, it’s _barely_ interstate,” corrects Eddie. Richie leans down to peck at the top of Eddie’s head, which seems to appease him. 

Ben leans in the space between where Eddie is hugged into the center of Richie’s chest. “Are we giving each other free reign then?” 

Ben’s surprised when Richie shrugs. “I’m fine with whatever my little Spaghetti head wants to get himself involved in. If I get to be included, then hey, yippee for me.” 

He circles an arm around Eddie’s body. Eddie stares up at him. Richie doesn’t look back. 

“Does this mean we can use Richie’s giant bed?” Ben asks, trying to break the perceived tension.

Richie gasps, whirling around the eye the furniture in question. Eddie’s cheeks go pink, and Ben wonders if he’s picturing the same thing: their thighs slipping together, mouthing into one another, Eddie wet and slick between them, Ben whispering encouragements into his ear. 

“It’s practically communal at this point,” Richie says. 

“True,” Bev agrees. She’s clearly trying to be supportive. Plus she knows better than anyone that Richie’s bed is the most comfortable thing in the apartment. The couch is a close second, but the last time Ben tried to sleep out there, his neck was sore for days. To be fair, his head spent the whole night pillowed between Bev’s breasts, but he’s barely twenty-five, and it’s the principle of the thing, and he was not happy.

“If you find a teddy bear on my dresser tomorrow, just ignore it,” Richie says, swaying with Eddie in his arms, his eyebrows wiggling dastardly. 

“You’re the worst,” Eddie hisses, twisting at Richie’s nipple. “If you nanny cam me and post the video I will never forgive you.” Richie squirms under Eddie’s hands. 

“Just think of it in a _sexy_ way! Me streaming your romantic night live into my lonely hotel room. That’ll really perk me up after a day of Sirius XM networking douches.” 

Richie catches Ben’s eye again and it makes Ben flush. That’s not a horrible idea, especially now that they’re settling further into their careers. He’s got a conference next Spring — maybe he can convince someone to put on a show. Just for his eyes, of course. There’s certain things he’d rather not post online, and that list is slowly becoming longer and longer. 

“You two guinea pigs can go off to your snazzy little dinner,” says Bev, interrupting the rest of them, lost in thought at the interesting potential in Richie’s creepy suggestion. “Richie and I will spend four hours in the car, one way, getting to know each other better.” She bares her teeth in a forced smile. Richie reaches over to punch her lightly on the arm.

“Yeah, I’m sick of living with a stranger in my house.” 

“At least I’m not a gangly, six foot tall pervert,” Bev says, her tongue stuck out. When Richie’s arm springs back out for a harder punch, Ben opens his arms as sanctuary. She collapses into him, and he holds her tight, wishing he could do the same to all of them at once. 

They bicker over their proposed sex signals that night, until Eddie pulls a whiteboard from the spare bedroom and makes a list of pros and cons. Socks win out as the “no go” option (as long as they’re not Eddie’s, who claims he’s “too busy” to switch them out after he’s done running), and a simple door-open policy for the invitation (Eddie promises to keep an eye on it, since Richie often gets going and forgets to make the effort). 

It all seems simple enough. Ben’s actually pretty excited to put it into practice. But first: his date. 

The next afternoon, Richie’s spinning the car keys violently around one finger while Bev says her goodbyes. 

“Call me tomorrow and let me know how it went,” Bev tells them both when she finishes up the hugs. Ben finds his arms stiff and hesitant in the face of letting her go, but she pats him twice on the hip to reassure him. 

“Yeah, or tonight, if you want some extra company,” adds Richie. Bev reaches for her suitcase once Ben finally releases her, then snatches at the motion of the keys, which go off-kilter and clock Richie in the nose. Richie’s still rubbing unhappily at the bump when Eddie closes the door behind them. 

Ben watches him turn around, press his back to the wall, and slip into a seductive smile. He looks gorgeous and relaxed, in sweat pants and a ratty white t-shirt, his lips still shiny from where Richie kissed him goodbye. Ben wants to rub his thumb over the moisture, maybe push it onto Eddie’s tongue for good measure. But he can wait. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugs.

“All ours?” 

Eddie nods, biting at his lip. Ben can practically taste it. “All ours.” 

Dark eyes bore into him while they moon, floating in front of the door, and Ben hopes it’s like this when they get back from their date. It’s only four, but Eddie suggested leaving early so they can have a nice night in. Ben’s heart almost stopped when Eddie _also_ suggested picking up extra lube at the shop on the corner before they get home. 

“I’ll be ready to go in an hour or so,” Ben tells him, unsticking his feet from where Eddie’s stare dug him into the floor. 

Eddie’s fuck-me eyes fade into organizational determination. “Right, I have to get dressed.” 

He moves to walk past Ben, gripping tight at the soft mound of his hip, where Bev just held him. Warmth spreads through him as the two touches crossover in his mind, melding into one solid line of comfort. 

Missing Bev won’t be so bad when he has Eddie to focus on. And focus he does.

One hour later, Ben emerges, ready in a navy blue sweater and pale chords (a Bev-approved, but not _selected_ outfit, because he can choose his own clothes, thank you very much), when he sees Eddie perched on the edge of their recliner, shoulders sloped down toward where he’s scrolling through his phone.

Ben thought the t-shirt and sweats look was good, but this is a close second. He’s in a salmon button up with white pants, his hair carefully gelled so it doesn’t look too wet or greasy. When Eddie hears Ben approach, it springs up with the motion of his head, curling gently over where his forehead smooths out in a smile. Dimples curve his cheeks instead. 

Ben manages a soft, “Hey,” that just makes Eddie laugh, and the sound shoots a spike of heat up his spine. 

Straightening out his pants, Eddie bounces over to where Ben is, his gait uneven, like he’s nervous. He presses a quick kiss to Ben’s cheek and heads for the door. 

“You, uh. You ready?” he asks. He collects both their coats and hovers by the door. Ben nods, forcing air through his lungs, forcing himself to grab the coat, forcing himself to calm the fuck down and act like a normal human, not someone who gets butterflies when one of his boyfriends smiles at him. Or when said boyfriend pokes his tongue out while he puts his coat on, swinging it around his adorable, compact shoulders and zipping it up with a pout. 

Ben does up his own coat and grins. “Ready.” 

“Here it is!” Ben calls, waving Eddie over from the turnstile outside the train stop. Ben smiles up at the “$20 Per Person - BYOB” painted on the window. Through the bamboo blinds he sees one occupied table among four empties and almost jumps for joy. The anxiety that almost swallowed him on the train ride here practically melts away in the face of this all working out how he hoped. Now he can relax — Eddie’s going to love this.

“What the fuck is this place?” Eddie groans. “And why did we have to buy our own beer? What kind of fancy restaurant doesn’t have drinks?” 

Ben huffs a laugh, holding open the door. “Just trust me, okay?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch skeptically, but he walks through, returning the favor at the second set of doors. Ben nods in thanks and holds up two fingers for the hostess. 

Once they’re seated, Ben asks for edamame. Eddie beams, shaking the menu with how hard his fingers clench.

“Is this a _sushi_ place??” Eddie yelps.

Ben turns to wave apologetically at the waitstaff while Eddie’s feet bounce on the floor. 

“Wait til you hear the most exciting part.” Shoving his elbows up onto the table, Ben leans in close. Eddie mirrors him, pressing his thin lips together, and Ben almost forgoes the exciting part to press a kiss there. Instead he whispers, “It’s all you can eat.” 

Eddie reels back, the white of his eyes gone wide and bright before they start raking the menu like a fluffy pile of leaves, side to side, then collecting in the middle, where a colorful array of pictures is displayed. Giggling quietly — so as to not further upset the staff — Ben starts throwing out suggestions. They decide on their starter plate: three rolls and one order of sashimi. Ben cracks two beers and sets them on the table as soon as the waitress is gone. 

“I’ve taken Bev here a couple times, but I found it when I first moved to the city,” Ben tells him, tipping his bottle forward in a small cheers. “I used to study here.” 

Eddie fixes him with a look. “That’s ridiculous. All the sauce? Your books would be filthy.” 

“No worse than studying at home.” Ben shrugs. “I find Starburst wrappers tucked into all my sketches. I don’t even know how Richie does it anymore, I barely bring them home. He must be sticking them in my pockets or something.” 

Eddie’s chortling, his cheeks starting to pink from the beer, and Ben wants to press in close and feel the heat. 

“So is this a hint?” asks Eddie, mouth poised for a sip. Ben watches a drip of liquid trail down his chin when he pops off. “You want me to study here and bring you home some sushi?” 

“Nah.” Ben sees the first plate of food come through the kitchen door. “I just know you love sushi. And beer. And a good deal.” 

Mouth twitching, Eddie freezes in his seat until the plates are set in front of him. Then he does a full body wiggle once the waitress is out of sight that makes Ben wants to reach over and touch him. Tousle his hair, maybe hold tight around his knee. Kiss up his neck and—

“Can I sit next to you?” Ben blurts, and Eddie stops halfway through shoving a whole Philadelphia roll in his mouth. 

“What… here?” Eddie flicks his chopsticks at the other side of his bench, confused. “Sitting on the same side of a booth is like… what awkward straight people do on dates.” 

Ben scoots his butt across the seat and stands. “We’re pretty far from straight, so I think we’ll be alright,” he says, and Eddie snorts loudly. He rolls his eyes, but moves to let Ben slide in, and Ben slaps at his thigh in thanks. Eddie presses their thighs together. Then he pulls at Ben’s arm up and around his shoulders. Nodding, he settles back into the food he’s collected on his plate, like he’s satisfied with their level of cuddle. 

And Ben is… Ben is ecstatic. 

Every time Eddie laughs, Ben can feel his whole body lurch, bowled over as he nearly bends in half. Like this, he can squeeze at Eddie’s arm as he eats, or wipe at the spot of fish eggs Eddie drops on his pants, or hear him better when he starts planning for their second plate of food before the first one is gone. 

Blood red tuna and avocado and mayo seaweed sauce and the pinky-nail-blob of wasabi Eddie almost refused but appreciated later all cover the table. Sticky rice keeps showing up on Ben’s bare elbow, but Eddie always picks it off with a knowing look, like he’s happy to be of help. They get some miso soup and some salads; Eddie gets through a second beer and keeps on going. 

He spins apologies with every extra item, even as he’s scanning the shrimp options for their third go-around, wondering aloud if they should try some tempura. 

Ben discards what must be his fiftieth edamame shell in the little bowl. “No need to apologize. That’s why we’re here.” 

“I know,” Eddie sighs, like there’s more to say. Leaning back against the seat, he lets Eddie take a breath. His fingers twitch around the splintered chopsticks.

“Your mom?” Ben asks gently, and Eddie answers with a nod. 

“It’s a stupid fucking response I still have. Feeling bad when I eat more than like… two fucking bites, or whatever my mom probably would have let me have.” He puts on a high, nasally voice. “ _Eddie-bear, you better watch yourself! You know too much will make you sick._ ”

Ben goes rigid at the familiarity. 

“As if the body doesn’t have a physiological response to _stress_ and _shame_ and like, fucking hating yourself,” Eddie huffs with a contrite laugh, his fingers still twirling around his utensil. Ben rubs at his back a few times to loosen up some of the aforementioned stress, but Eddie shakes his head. “Forget it.” 

“No, I like, _super_ get it,” Ben says, his chest tightening at the opening of this particular floodgate. “That’s why this is one of my favorite places to eat out, I just—” He sucks breath in through his nostrils. “I hate eating in front of other people.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch. “You eat in front of us all the time.” 

“Yeah, but not until we moved in together,” Ben laughs, because hardly anyone else notices this unless they’re fat themselves. Eddie blinks in the face of this new information. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you guys. People can just be—”

“Really fucking cruel,” says Eddie, eyes a little lost. Ben worries the skin on his lip between his teeth and cuddles in a little closer. He rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Plus the booths here are nice and spacious,” he says into Eddie’s sweater, sneaking his hands around his middle. “Plenty of room for the both of us.” 

Eddie elbows him, but lets Ben’s hands roam. 

When they start winding down, Eddie twines their feet together, angling away from Ben’s arms so he can stretch out. Ben presses an elbow up in the space between the booths, using the height of the divider to card a hand through Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s eyes slip closed as he pets. 

“Feel nice?” Ben asks. 

Eddie purrs out a satisfied, “Hmmmm.” He presses harder into Ben’s touch, and it’s nice for Ben, too. Not just this, but being slow with Eddie. Taking his time, listening to him talk. Not feeling any pressure — not waiting for anyone else to get home, pop out of a bedroom, or sit down between them on the couch. He could stay here all night. Let Eddie fall asleep with a hand gripped into his hair, soy sauce smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” Ben asks, dreamily.

Eddie’s eyes snap open, tongue licking unknowingly at the soy sauce, and Ben wonders if he tastes salty until Eddie rumbles:

“You don’t have to ask.”

So Ben dives in to find out. 

They meet in the middle quite nicely, Ben thinks, before he stops thinking anything at all for awhile. Eddie’s nose hitches into Ben’s cheek and his hand curves around the back of Ben’s neck and Ben is jelly against him, breathing in the scent of him, forgetting to note the soy sauce because Eddie just tastes… familiar.

The whole thing is familiar. They _keep_ kissing like this. First, on the couch, when Ben knew something might be up. Eddie had pursued him with an added fervor, mouthing softly at him until he opened up, grabbing tightly, like he was trying to send a message. _I’m here_ , it said, to Ben, and so Ben tries to say that back to him now. 

_I can be here like this. I can let you be quiet or loud or sad or elated. I can be whatever you need from me, as long as you’ll let me._

Shifting his arm back down, he braces both hands around Eddie’s neck, holding him solid and tight as their heads tip back and forth. Eddie moans softly when they turn right. Sighs through his nose when they turn left. Left and right, left and right, until Ben’s lost track. He’s minutely worried about doing this in public, especially when a couple older men walked in just a few minutes ago, but then Eddie skates fingers over Ben’s thigh and shudders when Ben presses in closer. 

Ben pulls back quicker than he’d like, thoughts of their apartment, and couch, and _bedroom_ taking stake in his mind.

“Let’s get outta here, huh?” he says, removing the tip he’d stored in his pocket and tossing it onto the table. Eddie’s eyes are foggy for a moment before he nods, clearing his throat and grabbing his coat. He reaches for Ben’s hand when they head out the door to a pitch black Chicago night. 

Eddie’s hand is halfway down Ben’s pants by the time they’re opening the door to their apartment. 

“Very forward of you,” Ben says sloppily into the side of Eddie’s neck, fumbling the door closed so Mrs. Reynolds across the hall doesn’t get an eyeful. Richie’s already on her shit list for leaving trash bags in the hallway, and she’s given Ben one too many weird looks the mornings after Bev is particularly loud in bed. His fault for choosing the room that shares a wall with the outside world. 

Eddie grumbles, palming Ben’s hardening cock in his pants. He spent the better part of ten minutes rubbing Ben covertly on the ride home — after they decided to skip the second transfer and take a car — so Ben presses back into him eagerly, relieved to finally breathe out a sound without worrying about the driver hearing. 

“I put out on the first date,” moans Eddie, and Ben rocks harder into his hand, thrilled to have that confirmed in the flesh. 

Leaning back into the wall, Ben spreads his thighs to let Eddie get a better angle, but instead Eddie takes it as an invitation to get his pants open. Ben’s eyes scramble hungrily over Eddie’s working fingers, breathless. 

“You wanna— _hah_ , you wanna go to the bed? Or the couch? Or like, the counter, or—” 

“No,” says Eddie, tonguing at Ben’s bottom lip when he brings them back together. Ben laughs into him, but Eddie’s working fast, shoving Ben’s pants down around his thighs, fisting the hair at the back of Ben’s head to keep him where he wants him. At least Ben knows he wants something, and it’s apparently Ben pinned to the wall while Eddie goes to town. 

Pressure flares over the head of his cock where Eddie is rubbing slow. 

“ _Eds_ ,” he whines, completely unbidden. The whole place is empty, and Ben notes the echo of his own desperate groaning as Eddie pulls at the band of his briefs. As Eddie peers down to watch the fat head of Ben’s cock bounce up against his belly. As Eddie wets his lips and watches him back with dark eyes. 

“What do _you_ want?” Eddie asks, ghosting a thumb over the slit of the head. Ben doesn’t get wet like Eddie does, so it’s tender and dry, but Ben feels it flush through his whole abdomen. 

“Take it out,” Ben huffs, and Eddie’s quick to follow instruction, gripping around the base of Ben’s cock, catching fingers on the hair gathered there, and Ben groans when his skin hits the air. Heat currents between them, still in their coats. The sound of the zippers rubbing together is metal in Ben’s ears. Rough and raw, like Eddie’s voice when it finally ekes out. 

“I fucking love your dick.”

Ben laughs, presses his forehead to Eddie’s shoulder. It bounces beneath him with the motion of Eddie’s hand. It’s cold, his skin red and cracked from the winter wind, from where it was stacked on top of Ben’s on the subway pole. Standing room only meant they were shoved in like sardines, but Ben didn’t mind if it meant Eddie’s hand at the middle of his chest, keeping him upright while the train lurched back and forth. 

They sway like they did then; Ben feels rocked by the sweep of Eddie’s fingers around his cock. He keens up, thrusting, and Eddie gasps. He spits in his hand, and takes the opportunity to ask for more.

“I want you to touch me, too, will you touch me?” 

Something swells Ben’s chest at the sight of Eddie so desperate, heaving with his hand wrapped around Ben’s cock, waiting for Ben to do the same to him, so his head almost flies off with how fast he nods.

“I wanna touch you so bad, baby,” he sighs, trying to reach past Eddie’s jerking hand to get to his zipper. 

“ _Ben_ ,” Eddie breathes, hot and damp against Ben’s cheek. “I almost blew you in the back of that fucking car.” 

“You could have, I would have let you,” Ben tells him, even though it’s probably not true. He just wants to imagine Eddie swallowing him down while someone could hear — trying not to buck his hips up to fuck deep into Eddie’s throat. 

“Yeah?” Eddie says with challenging eyes. “Woulda let me take you down my throat? Make you come so hard you couldn’t keep quiet?”

“Fuck.” Ben gasps, thrusting forward, lost on his journey to pull Eddie out of his pants. “Harder, like that.” 

“I know how you like it,” Eddie spits again, and shiver runs through Ben’s body. Eddie _knows_ him. He’s been paying attention, and Ben is just as surprised as he is thrilled. Of _course_ Eddie knows what to do, they’ve made a living figuring that out, but something about being alone and together is blowing Ben’s mind. It’s like looking at their relationship through a kaleidoscope. Those colors were there all along, he just needed a different perspective. 

Ben’s hands shake, but when Eddie’s own cock shows itself — peeking out from the band of Eddie’s briefs, predictably leaking from the tip — Eddie groans. Then he shifts his whole body to the side, bending Ben’s dick slightly until he can fit it through the give in the leg hole. Ben thrusts forward a few times, testing the give of the fabric, until they’re humping at each other, all inside Eddie’s underwear. Mesmerized by the head poking through, Ben watches as Eddie wraps a hand around both of them, squeezing until he can feel the veins in Eddie’s dick alongside his. 

“You’re so weird,” Ben huffs, fond. Eddie laughs.

“Richie always says that.” His cheeks are red from exertion, or from the cold, or maybe from the heat of all this, of their date and the food and the heavy petting in the car. Either way, Ben leans over to kiss at it, and Eddie leans down with him until their mouths are woven together again. 

Ben breaks to catch his breath, his cock grinding hard against Eddie’s, their motions choppy and weird at this angle, with Ben practically fucking into Eddie’s underwear. 

Eddie groans, licking at his lips. “You want me to blow you?”

Ben’s thrusts stutter.

 _Does_ he? He wants everything right now. It’s all running together, bleeding into one long wave of feeling and desperation. Internally, he takes a step back from the overwhelming arousal and tries to focus. 

This is his first date with Eddie. He wants to make Eddie feel good. He wants to touch Eddie all over. Wants to feel Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s ass. Wants to shove all of his clothes off, right here, and drag him to the floor. Wants to blow him, or be blown, or pushed against the door and have each other, just let the growing, swelling thing inside both of them go and do what comes natural, he doesn’t want to think or plan or set expectations he just wants—

“Just like this, just do this,” Ben says in a rush, and Eddie practically giggles in response. 

“We can take our time tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, or later tonight,” Ben says on instinct. He wants to fit in as much time together as possible. Eddie watches him heavily, his hand stilling from where it’s fit around both of their dicks, still tucked inside Eddie’s briefs. They’ve gotta be ruined by now. 

“I couldn’t wait to get you alone,” he says. Ben’s stomach drops out. He thrusts forward, knocking Eddie’s hand away on accident. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ , sorry, I just didn’t—” 

“Don’t be sorry.” Eddie keeps up. Goes back to touching him. Puts on a look and walks right in front of him, popping the band of his underwear down so it’s no longer in the way. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

“ _Hnnngh_ ,” he whimpers, overwhelmed. Eddie’s eyes are shiny, even in the dark, intoxicating, and Ben loves him. 

“I like how red you get,” Eddie says, studying the head of Ben’s cock where it’s straining in his palm. “I can always tell how close you are by what shade of red you’re showing.” 

“Oh my god, Eddie,” sighs Ben. He crowds a little closer, shuffling his feet on the floor until he can hold around Eddie’s hip. Eddie doesn’t seem too affected, his limbs solid and strong, holding a power stance like he watched a TED Talk on intimidating your peers before you get them off. Ben wishes he’d let him suck his dick in the cab. Eddie’s a menace, and it makes Ben want to live on the edge. 

Then again, it was Ben’s idea to do porn, so maybe they’re more alike than Ben thought. 

“I can’t wait to see you come.” Eddie flicks his hand over his own cock, collecting the wetness at the head and spreading it over both of them. “Wanna watch what you look like. Have you all to myself.” 

“You have me,” Ben says, a plea for more. 

Eddie grunts, looking impatient. “Wanna lick you, but I—” 

“Do it,” Ben says quick, and Eddie’s licking a fat stripe, straight up the side of his neck. Ben wants to suck on that tongue, wants to feel it licking circles around the head of his cock, his ass. His eyes flutter closed as Eddie’s hand pumps up and down, up and down, curves over top, tickles down at the bottom. Rolls Ben’s balls in his palm, teases at the edge of his hole. Kisses him quick and dirty, lolling his tongue out to make it sloppy, too. 

Ben’s body is singing, nerves firing on every cylinder, echoing wet grunts and slaps until he can’t take it anymore. 

“Keep— keep doing that, just, _Eddie_ just like that—”

Eddie bites his lip, watching intently where their cocks are sliding together. He maintains his speed, pushing up a little harder, panting breaths from his open mouth Ben can feel fogging at the base of his throat. Gripping fingers around Eddie’s shoulder for leverage, Ben gives a few more pumps of his hips until he’s coming hard, covering both of their hands. 

“Fuck, Ben,” Eddie groans, staring down at his hand in wonder, webbing his fingers to see how Ben’s come spreads. Ben imagines him licking it off, like he’s done before, and his dick twitches in sympathy. 

“Want you to—”

“Just fucking—” Eddie gasps, eyes roaming up and down Ben’s messily unbuttoned collar, his coat shoved halfway off his shoulders, the points of his shirt hanging lazily over his softening cock. 

“Whaddyou want baby?” 

“Just wanna fucking—” Eddie scrunches his fingers together. His dick is long and beautiful, curved and gorgeous, spreading moisture on his own shirt. Ben reaches a shaky hand up to thumb under it, over his hip, and that must break Eddie loose. “I just wanna rub off on you. Can I fucking rub off on you? On your stomach?” 

“Uh.” Yes. Yes. Yes. “You want to—”

“You’re so fucking hot, I’m kind of losing my mind, just wanna—” and he grinds his dick up underneath Ben’s own shirt, just like Ben’s fingers did to him, but with his perfect, hot, slippery cock poking at Ben’s bellybutton. 

“Yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, rub off on me,” Ben groans, desperate for it, and Eddie gets to it, starts unbuttoning his shirt with sticky fingers, so Ben helps, both of them shaky and fuck drunk and laughing, breath mingling between them, and this might be their first date but if everything else is like this it’ll be easy. 

The buttons are a chore but Eddie flings the shirt open as soon as they’re loose, exposing Ben’s chest and belly with a hungry groan. It’s hardly novel at this point, the way Eddie and Richie and Bev look at him, how they see him, how much they want him all the time, but it still stirs Ben up inside. He wonders if he could possibly come again so soon.

When Eddie presses his hard, dripping cock against the skin of Ben’s belly and thrusts up, up, _up_ , Ben just blinks, and groans, and then realizes he wants to _touch_. His hands have been tragically uninvolved until this moment, so he wraps his arms around Eddie’s whole body, gets a handful of ass, and sets a rhythm. Eddie takes to it like a fish in water.

“Oh, god, can you— try to finger— _yeah_ ,” he breathes when Ben gets the hint, sucks a finger into his mouth and trails it down Eddie’s crack until he rubs around his hole. Eddie’s whole body keens at the touch, and even further when Ben tries to press inside, feeling the give of that tight circle of heat. Ben grinds Eddie _closer_ , squeezing his ass how Eddie likes it: rough and tight. 

Eddie keeps huffing and puffing, a hand cupped around his cock where it’s thrusting into the give of Ben’s stomach, and Ben feels so desirable, so fucking seen and _hot_ that he runs his mouth to get Eddie all the way there. 

“You got me alone, huh? This what you wanted to do? You wanna fuck me, too?” 

“Hhhhuh, uh _huh_ ,” Eddie gasps. His fingers clench like steel around Ben’s arm where it’s jerking him forward. 

“I want you to. Always love when you fuck me — when you get me on all fours and _give it to me_.” 

Eddie grinds. Kicks up his hips.“Yeah, I wanna—”

His whole body tightens, his thrusts quick and desperate, and Ben has time to lick into his mouth and press them tight together just before he blows. 

Ben feels his chest go wet, Eddie’s dick — the tip pressed right under his bellybutton — spasm against him until they break apart enough to watch. Eddie comes like it’s happening in bursts, panted harsh and shivered violently through his body. He throws his head back, the long, bumpy column of his neck too enticing. Ben feels a light splash of Eddie’s release when he leans forward to latch his mouth right over the beating in Eddie’s throat. 

“Fuck, jesus,” sighs Eddie as he sags in Ben’s arms. Ben finally feels warm all the way down to his bones, the winter chill gone now that he’s holding Eddie. Like melting a marshmallow right over his heart. 

And it’s… sticky. 

“You’re still hard,” Eddie mumbles into his chest, like it’s annoying. Like his drowsy arm isn’t already trailing down to feel it. 

“Mmm, you’re hot,” Ben answers, kissing at the top of Eddie’s head, his temple, his forehead once he pulls back an inch or two. He gets Eddie’s attention through heavy lids. “Let’s clean up? Move it to the bedroom this time?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Mmm’guess.” 

“Okay,” Ben laughs, stealing another kiss, one to each eyelid, before releasing him. He gathers up Eddie’s pants where they were discarded on the floor and ushers Eddie toward the bedroom, already making a list in his head. Glasses of water, wipes, maybe even a towel, and he could get a little bowl of fruit together for later. Bev cut up a bunch of mangoes before she left and he doubts it’ll be good past tomorrow. 

Already on his way to the kitchen, he stops dead when he catches Eddie in the doorway staring at him. He’s leaned against the door like he’s come home early and found Ben singing and dancing in the kitchen — a pleased smirk, arms over his chest, bare toes pressed into the floor. 

Ben flushes, despite still being covered in both of their come. 

“What?” 

Eddie shrugs again, more deliberate this time. “You’re just fucking cute, is all.” 

Ben laughs, because honestly, it’s hilarious. Eddie is fully nude, mussed up, a little scratched up, sweat stuck hair on his chest and flirting so openly Ben can hardly stand to look at him. But it pinches Eddie’s face up in a million places, his mouth pursed out to yell, so Ben waves an appeasing hand. 

“Don’t fucking laugh—”

“I’m not laughing!” Ben says, laughing. Eddie’s bare foot slaps angrily against the wood. 

“I’m just saying I love you and you’re super fucking cute, alright? Can’t a guy moon over his boyfriend a little while the rest of the family is out of town?” 

And it stops Ben’s heart, for so many reasons, so many things to say, but his brain whites out after—

“You love me?” he blurts, before he gets further down the sentence, because there’s definitely more there to parse out, like _family_ , or _cute_ , or _boyfriend_ (though he knew that one, it’s just still… a _lot_ ), but Eddie just rolls his eyes and Ben feels like a fool now that it’s out of his mouth. 

“I lo— of _course_ I love you, dude! I told you this!” 

“Not in… so many words.” 

Eddie’s face snaps loose like a rubberband. “What the fuck, seriously?” 

Ben sags, dropping Eddie’s pants and sitting down on the edge of the couch, needing something to ground him. Eddie’s too fast for him; it’s like conversations go at three times the normal speed for him and Richie — most of the time Ben’s lucky if he can get a word in edgewise. At least without Richie here he has half a chance. 

“I didn’t— ugh.” He’s still not doing great. “We only really talked it about that once. And I figured you guys were just sort of…” He gestures in circles in front of his heart. “Humoring me or something.” 

Eddie squints. “Humoring you,” he says slowly. 

Ben flops back onto the couch, suddenly wanting to dig down into the cushions and live there forever. 

“Eddie—”

“No, no, I get what you mean.” 

Ben groans. He knows that fucking tone. Eddie turns, pacing a naked line in front of his bedroom door. Maybe Ben would find it funny if he didn’t already know he was on the verge of being mocked. 

“I often joke around with my buds, my pals, my platonic roommates whom I fuck enthusiastically about how I’m in love with them.” Eddie shrugs, but his mouth is doing that thing where his bottom lip pouts out and his biceps are clenched and Ben knows he might be about to vibrate out of his skin. But he still says, casually, “I get it. It happens. Common misunderstanding.” 

Ben throws his arms in the air. “Well can you blame me?” 

“Yes! I am definitely blaming you!” Eddie yelps, the top of his pecs turning red. Ben wants nothing more than to forget all this and drag him into bed. Turn on the laptop and watch a movie all cuddled up, maybe will Ben’s erection back and make good on that earlier twitchy promise and then he can let Eddie fuck all the thoughts out of his head. 

It takes all Ben’s willpower not to divert, or shrink away. All he wants is everyone happy. He doesn’t want to upset Eddie with the knowledge that he hasn’t been forthright about his feelings, or about Ben’s place in what Eddie apparently considers his _family_. Or maybe Eddie was joking; Ben truly doesn’t know, and that’s the problem.

 _Use your words_ , he hears Bev say. 

“I have no idea where we stand, and I wasn’t gonna push it, okay? Why would I when I have such a good thing going?” He holds his arms out, trying to encompass not only their apartment, their _home_ , but their life together. “Bev and I have each other. You and Richie have each other. And we all have everyone, too, but like. I know it’s different with you and Richie. I _know_ that. So no, I didn’t know what you saying I love you meant. I don’t know what it _means_.” 

Eddie fists up his palms and shakes them. “It means I love you!” 

“Right,” Ben says, his whole body gone shaky. Being this honest all at once feels like a gamble, somehow. 

“It means I love you like I love Richie. It means I—” Eddie’s hands find his hips, fingers laid neatly in the muscle line divots of his crotch. “It means I love you, and like, yeah, we’re figuring that out and shit but I fucking— I _love_ you, Ben. Real love, like love _love_ , like love that’s not easy for me to say but I’m getting better about because it’s practically _exploding_ out of me love.” 

“ _Really_?” Ben asks, strangled. Eddie still looks mad, but he nods fervently.

“Yeah, really! That’s what I’m saying.” Air shoots audibly from his nose as he calms himself somewhat. His forehead triangles at the center. “I know it can be hard to believe that like—” 

He shuffles a bit on the floor. Ben can’t tell if he’s trying not to cry, or just taking his time, and Ben wants, viscerally, suddenly, to get up and hug him. Quiet him and move this into the bedroom, where they can kiss and touch their words into each other’s skin, instead of having to sit here and face it. Face the realities that they’ve shared and the ones they haven’t; the places in which they truly know each other and the places where they’ll have to work to meet in the middle. 

But Eddie’s always been so fucking brave.

“I know it’s hard to believe that someone might love all of you, or you for you, or you when there’s other— when there’s _others_ ,” Eddie says, temple twitching. Ben smiles softly. Their _others_. “But they can.” 

“Eddie—” 

“I can,” Eddie breathes, so seriously, with his sex-tousled hair, an imprint of Ben’s teeth still pressed into his neck, his soft cock hanging enticingly between his legs; and Ben loves him so much, so overflowingly much in this very moment, not to mention all other moments, that all he can do is give way to this bubbling, insistent pressure building in his chest, and let forth a desperate, guffawing laugh. 

“You’re laugh— you’re laughing at me,” Eddie says, while Ben continues, just laughs and laughs and laughs until he’s as red as a tomato and Eddie’s crossing his arms and staring because he’s back to anger now, but Ben just… 

“I love you,” he says through gasping breaths, just to get it out. “I love you, I love you, I really— yeah. I love you.” He calms, and calms, and could keep saying it, could keep letting it calm him because that’s what it is. It’s calm.

“Okay,” Eddie huffs with his own small laugh, but Ben can tell he’s just humoring him, for real this time. “Okay, I love you— I love you too. That’s what I’m saying.”

“I know.” Ben stands, finally feeling free of the burden of something or other, something he’s been carrying around for months, and takes Eddie by the hand. “I think we should probably go to bed now.” 

“I think so,” Eddie says with a nod and wide eyes. “I think someone desperately needs some sleep.” 

“Yeah,” Ben agrees. “Yeah, let’s go to bed.”

Eddie stops, holding a hand at Ben’s chest, like he did on the train.

“That’s out of the way, though, right? We love each other. That’s— that’s that? We know that now.” 

“Yes, Eddie,” Ben says lightly, a laugh still itching at his throat, because it’s all so easy. It’s just so much easier than he ever thought it would be. He knows it’ll get more complicated; it already kinda is. But maybe the change won’t ruin anything at all. 

Maybe it’ll just make everything better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Thanks to Laser for a beta read and being my Cam Boys bud always, and to my wonderful GC for always being so wonderful. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	3. it'll be good to go away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’s tonight for you?” Richie asks, with a hint of a laugh, but Bev’s heart drops into her stomach, the tingling kicked up between her legs. They’ve still got a couple hours left in this trip, and she’s well beyond her days of pulling over to the side of the road to fuck.
> 
> But… maybe—
> 
> “Oh my _god_ , you are so up for this,” Richie says, cackling, his head thrown back again in mirth.
> 
> Bev reaches over to clock him in the throat, and he doesn’t mention sex again for at least, like… twenty-four minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've been working on other things and then NaNoWriMo kicked my ass. 
> 
> This is a Bev/Richie chapter. If that's something that bothers you, please just click out. 
> 
> Thank you as always to Laser for the beta and the notes and being my Cam Boys buddy. Thank you also to the GC cause I love y'all.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of menstruation, allusions to parental and partner abuse, sexual trauma (on Bev's part), vaginal sex, a drunk guy being a dick at a concert, bathroom sex, Ben being adorable, Bev and Richie acting like teenagers, alcohol use, making out in cars and polyamory.

Bev stares down at the green sweater with the hole over the bicep and the blue sweater with the ratty and stretched collar. Both have a certain appeal, although a hole over the bicep implies a mistake; the collar could be a statement. In reality, both of them are over ten years old. She might be on her way to being a designer, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be comfortable and financially sound with her own wardrobe. 

Besides, it’s not like _she’s_ going anywhere fancy. Richie’s the one with people to impress; Bev’s just his arm candy for the concert. And that brings her to a more important question that turns her stomach:

 _What the fuck do people wear to concerts_? 

She’s become way too much of a homebody. 

She throws both of them in the duffel bag spread open on her bed and calls it good. Ben’s perched next to it, his hands wringing in small twitches on his lap. He’s soft from sleep, his hair sticking up in angles, but Bev knows if she mentions it he’ll get embarrassed. 

“Are you listening to me? Cause I can scrap this conversation for later if you’re busy.”

It makes her laugh, which she knows he doesn’t like either. He’s just so damn…cute. She wants to scrunch her fingers together even thinking about it. Like when she sees a troupe of puppies in a pet store window: they’re so adorable she could die, but there’s really nothing she can do about it. She takes a step forward to press her hands to Ben’s cheeks. 

So warm. So cute. 

“Baby, it’ll be fine.” She wasn’t exactly listening, but feels like that will probably cover it. Ben’s shoulders go slack; he smiles up at her. 

“You’re probably right. I just… I don’t—”

“You’re not gonna mess it up,” she interrupts. She heard that part: _What if Eddie’s just agreeing to this date to make Richie feel better, or because he thinks he_ has _to? What if I push him too far? What if I—_

“But what if I _do_? It could throw off the whole equilibrium of our relationship just because I couldn’t keep my hands off—” 

“Baby,” she repeats, squeezing Ben’s cheeks in until it puckers his lips. She pecks at them with a giggle, then his forehead for good measure. “Eddie is excited. You agreed on this date _together_. I was there.”

Ben tilts his head. “You were kinda making out with Richie.” 

“We were not _making out_ ,” Bev blanches, but she’s not sure why. They do make out a lot. Richie’s a good kisser, why shouldn’t she—

Okay, not the point. 

“The point is,” she starts again, tapping her pointer fingers onto Ben’s nose. Another smile busts through, even as he tries to flinch her away. “You two are not going to irreversibly screw something up. Didn’t we just have this conversation last night? At _length_?” 

His lips twitch almost imperceptibly. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe,” she laughs, gifting him a parting kiss before continuing to pack. They’re only away for two nights, but she throws in four pairs of underwear. She’s less than a week from her period, but she’s ruined enough clothing to know when to be prepared. 

God, _fuck_ , she hopes she doesn’t get her period. It’s not like she hasn’t had period sex before, but—

Okay, getting ahead of herself. The events of this trip are few and uncertain. _Let’s just see how it goes, hot stuff,_ were Richie’s exact words, so. She’s just gonna see how it goes. 

She’s just gonna hope she gets laid. 

She makes a mental note to grab the box of tampons and a bunch of condoms from the bathroom counter, but other than that she should be done packing. A whole hour before they’re set to leave, AKA: a new Marsh record.

A wave of excitement crawls up her spine, but Ben is still looking sluggish at the edge of the bed. 

“Aren’t you worried about your trip?” he asks, and she shrugs on instinct.

“Nope!” 

Ben tips sideways, bodily tilting until he hits the mattress with a soft thump. 

“Look.” Bev sits alongside his thigh, hoisting him back up by the arm. He huffs, flailing his limbs like he’s a child told he can only eat so much of his Halloween candy per night. Bev licks her lips: she’s not going to let him ruin this for himself before it’s started. “I know we just started this whole _journey of exploration_ for ourselves, but I think you’re putting too much pressure on it.”

He flops back down before she can catch him.

“Dating is scary!” he muffles into his pillow. 

“Was it scary with me?” 

“Of course it was!” He sits back up, eyebrows creasing. “Are you kidding me? I was scared out of my mind for the first, like, _month_ at least.” 

She gasps. “A _month_?” 

Ben nods furiously, then slams himself back onto the bed. 

Ben’s always been a sort of nervous type. Not in the same way as Eddie—a little ball of passionate indignation—and definitely not the same way as Richie—a passive-aggressive mixture of locked-away and worn-on-the-sleeve emotions. Instead he becomes one, adorable human-sized blush, bouncing his eyes around and stumbling over words. Luckily, Bev has learned how to cultivate calm in all of them: Eddie needs somewhere to focus his energy (watching 90 Day Fiance or ushering him off into Richie’s room are the best options), Richie needs someone to pet through his hair and tell him it’s okay to vent (this one comes with a bonus side of cuddles for Bev), and Ben… well. Ben really needs someone to listen and validate. 

Or someone to grab him by the cheeks and snap him back to reality. She would prefer to still be doing the latter, but Ben’s already started curling his knees toward his chest. 

Bev tries to think back on their introductory phase as a couple—before they thought of themselves that way, or perhaps before Bev did, if she knows her generously eager boyfriend well enough—and can only remember long, involved conversations and deep scarlet blushes on Ben’s cheeks. She remembers kissing for hours, losing track of time. She remembers Ben opening doors and pulling out chairs and giving away his coats and how defensive it made her at first; that is, until that time he wiped a table down after they ate so that “the workers wouldn’t have to do it for them,” and she realized—watching him brush the crumbs of their fancy bread and oil into his hand and dumping it into the garbage—that he really just _is_ that thoughtful. 

Of course, she later let him know that no matter if he wipes off the table or not, the server will still have to do it anyway, to which he blushed and apologized, and now every time they eat out she sees the moment he wars with himself over this new information and, honestly, it’s somehow become even _cuter_. 

In any case, his thoughtfulness was one of the many things that drew her to him. That, and his preening, gorgeous eyes. She may not remember Ben’s nerves, but she sure as hell remembers how he stared at her from behind the stacks in the library, green overlapping with blue, mossy and bright, holding her attention like no one else had. 

Today, her attention is drawn to the peek of skin edging out from where Ben’s t-shirt is riding up. She presses her fingers there to feel the soft touch of him, and something stirs in her stomach. Feeling a bit ridiculous, she pulls him up again, desperately needing to smell him. This time he comes easy, so she buries her face in his neck and inhales. When he squirms delightfully but doesn’t pull away, she knows he’s starting to feel better.

“Just think of all the stuff we’ll have to tell each other when I get back,” she kisses into his skin, reveling in the hum that spreads through his throat and chest.

“I guess,” he says against her, and she opens up to lick gently over the pout on his lips. 

“You _guess_ ,” she mumbles back. He breathes a laugh, and she feels it on her lips, warm and delighted. Her whole body moves toward him: the more they kiss, the closer she wants to be. Her hands twist him gently until she can climb into his lap and push him onto his back. He hums as she straddles his hips and leans down to rekindle their kiss. When she pulls back up, his eyes are glassy and trained on her. A chunk of his sandy blonde hair is falling into his face, his mouth wet, red and open. 

He’s so fucking hot. 

“Let’s face it,” she says, bucking her hips against where he’s getting hard in his sleep pants, where she feels herself getting wet against the press of him, “you’re not going to be thinking much about me tonight. Or on your date. Or _after_ your date, for sure.” 

Ben pulls her back, leveraging where his hands were already curling possessively around her hips. 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

She shakes her head, slowing down her thrusts so he doesn’t get _too_ excited. She wants him to keep up some energy for Eddie tonight. And she wants to save up some energy for herself.

“Of course not, I see how you get when you’re with Eddie, and I definitely know how—”

“No, I mean,” Ben sits up; Bev falls back on his hips until her legs are practically sticking in the air, “you think I won’t be thinking of you?” 

She screws up her face. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ , babe, I just—”

“I think of you all the time. Even when I’m with the guys,” he says, his voice as sweet as pie despite the hard erection pressing crudely into her ass, and the combination of sweet and sexy is so overwhelming that she almost bursts into tears. 

Okay, so she’s definitely going to miss him. But right now it seems more important to build him up than acknowledge that. Besides, she’s excited to spend time with Richie. Time alone. 

Pasting on a pleasantly neutral smile to cover where the tears stupidly want to fall, she pushes up to untangle their bodies. 

“I know, silly boy,” she says, swatting him gently on the chest. “Don’t worry about me, okay? You just have fun. And I want to hear _every detail_ when I get back.” 

She swings her legs back around to crawl off the bed, zipping up her bag and pecking him again on the head. He looks vaguely mopey, but better than before.

“I’ll make sure to mentally catalogue it, but hey—” He grabs at her arm to twirl her back around to face him. “You tell me everything, too, right? That’s the deal?” 

It was something they talked about long ago, even before the four of them discussed it at length. After all, getting into a serious relationship with someone who was also sleeping with two other people on the regular wasn’t something Bev was willing to do without communication. And after seeing how things went for the three guys, she was glad she pushed the issue, despite Ben’s overall reluctance. 

Her experience with relationships was rather scant, at least where the word “healthy” could be applied, but she had been around the block by the time Ben caught her eye in the library. Men had come and gone, and a few women, the next always a little more tolerable than the one before, but not by much. When she saw Ben, cute as a button with meat on his bones, she could tell he would be different. But it didn’t mean she believed it. 

Years and years of shitty behavior and excuses, apologies and reassurances, clenched fingers bruising into her skin and learning to shrink herself had left its mark by the time she got to high school. And that wasn’t just dating. Her father was wounded by the death of her mother, and he made sure Beverly felt the impact of his grieving with easily-covered marks and the electric shock of fear. 

She knew he blamed her. He knew she hated him. 

She knew, even as she fled home at sixteen into the arms of her mother’s sister, her one safe haven, that she’d never be rid of him. And he knew, too. Sometimes she thinks that’s why he did it in the first place: to always be there. That little voice in her head telling her she isn’t good enough. 

Maybe that’s what really drew her and Ben together, in the end. Sure, his eyes made the first impression, but the shared history of feeling lowly and insufficient strung them together more tightly. Now they can be each other’s safe haven—though her aunt will always happily welcome her back for a visit. And as time goes on, she thinks maybe Richie and Eddie can be that for her, too. She knows they already are for Ben—but he gives away his trust like he’s asking someone to take it. She’s a little more withholding: she’s been burned before. 

In any case, depriving Ben of further companionship and connection made no sense. When he finally blurted—after a few too many beers over at her old apartment—that he was _doing porn_ with both his roommates she was… well. She was intrigued as _hell_. Not to mention horny. She promptly dragged him into the bedroom, blew him, made him fuck her twice, and then insisted on more information. And that’s when they came up with the deal. 

_You can do anything you want. As long as I know. And as long as you tell me_ everything _._

It’s made this whole process so much easier. And now, staring down at his open and asking face, still pink from their kissing, Bev warms all the way through: excited to have new adventures, but just as excited to get back home and share them. A perfect mix and match of new and old. 

So Bev nods, fixing the strap tighter around her shoulder. 

“That’s the deal.” 

Later, as they’re headed out the door, as Ben’s clinging to her for one last goodbye hug, she pats his hip a few times as a reminder. As Richie’s swinging the car keys like a mad man, she glimpses the heat in Eddie’s eyes, and the wide, unknown innocence in Ben’s, and wonders how the hell these three ever got along without her. 

Luckily, they don’t have to anymore.

As soon as Bev got behind the wheel of her first car, she fell in love with driving. It was one of the first spots of independence she ever felt; smoking cigarettes in the alley behind the pharmacy didn’t quite have the same shine as the realized wanderlust of cruising around the city. Her hometown became more bearable when she could watch it from the safety of a vehicle. When she could fly past the troupes of teens that loved to lock her in a bathroom stall and flip them the bird, even if it came back to bite her the next Monday. 

Now that she’s in Chicago—and now that there’s four people chipping in for gas—she’s taken to establishing her own pattern of driving after almost a year. 

She rolls the windows down and listens to the wind; or she hooks her phone up to the janky tape-deck and finds a station that isn’t too staticky to play her music; or she tries out one of the podcasts Ben is always suggesting, and then turns it off an hour in because it’s _way_ too in-depth about the mating rituals of, like, lobsters or whatever. With her aunt living two hours South and her clients spread out around the city, she’s become accustomed to solo trips. Having control over her driving destiny. 

Twenty minutes into driving with Richie as her passenger, she realizes this is going to be a very different experience than she’s used to. 

“Let me tell you,” Richie’s saying, drumming something Bev thinks might be REO Speedwagon onto his thigh—or maybe ABBA? Jesus, he has the music taste of a forty year old man—and pointing at the smattering of colorful billboards marking the highway. “The ads on this stretch are _far_ more interesting on the drive to, say, Indiana or Ohio.” 

“I hadn’t noticed,” she says, though she’s already learned that feigning disinterest does nothing to stop him. 

“Yep, yep.” He pops the ‘p.’ That means he’s bored. God, when the fuck did she learn so much about Richie Tozier? In her sleep? “I’m actually coming to miss the variety. Ohio’s _full_ of strip—I mean _gentlemen’s_ clubs.”

Bev grimaces as a giant cross passes them by. “You ever been to one of those places?” 

“Oh hell no,” Richie says, shaking his head profusely. “I’ve _tried_ , but I’m about the farthest thing you can find from a gentleman.” He leans over and winks. Bev groans.

“Ha-ha,” she sneers, changing lanes. Now that the initial rush out of the city is over, she can sit in the right lane and calm a little. She’s only aggressive when there’s need to be; now she kind of wants to relax into the drive. 

“You sound just like Eddie,” Richie says, wistfully. 

“Missing him already?” she teases. Richie pauses, and when Bev turns quickly to look, his mouth is screwed up tight. 

“Actually, uh… no?” 

“No?” Her spine tingles with interest. She doesn’t miss Ben yet. Though she did already think of him when they passed a sign for that Frank Lloyd Wright house he’s always wanted to visit.

“Not really, I mean. First of all it’s been, like, an hour,” he says casually, but then continues slowly. “But also I’m kind of, like… Okay, are you gonna make fun of me?” 

“What? Me?” 

“Yes, you. The asshole who will _definitely_ make fun of me.” 

“Richaaaaaard,” she preens, poking her finger into the side of his arm. “Are you _excited_ to spend the weekend with meeeee?” 

“No, nope, never,” he insists, trying to duck away. She ruffles his dumb curls and pinches at his thigh through his jeans, almost going full-tilt to rub at where a blush is blooming on his cheeks. Richie’s not cute, exactly, not like Ben, and not in the warlock-y kind of way Eddie is, but he’s… he’s definitely something. 

Hot. He’s kinda hot.

“You are! You are!” she says, because she has to keep teasing through that train of thought. Richie flaps his hands like a bird trying to take flight, and she finally relents. She was swerving there for a second, so that’s probably not great. 

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m excited, all right?” 

“I _knew_ it,” she says, sitting up straight and haughty as they blow past a sign for _another_ Taco Bell/Pizza Hut hybrid. “You like me.” 

“You’re fun to hang out with!” He yells. “And sue me if I’m excited for my first concert in fucking years, I feel like a high schooler again.”

“Eddie doesn’t really seem the concert type,” she agrees, then adds, “Ben isn’t really, either. He’d rather see a play or something.” 

“Eddie, too! Even though he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut at the movies.” 

Bev laughs, remembering the last time he tagged along to a horror film and spent the whole run-time criticizing the characters’ choices and jeering when they died. A little old lady actually turned around and shushed them, and _then_ got the manager to kick out all four of them because Richie and Bev couldn’t stop cackling. 

Then they all went to a diner and ate onion rings and smoothies. It was actually a great day. 

“I haven’t had the honor of seeing him at the _theatre_ ,” Richie droles in a British accent. “I’m sure he’s much more _distinguished_ and such. Not like us ruffians.” 

“The last play Ben saw was _Shrek The Musical_ so I’m not too worried about him being overly pretentious.” 

Richie throws his head back with a laugh, pressing his big hands over his thighs. Bev squirms as his fingers stretch out. She remembers last night, the same hands holding tight around her calf as Ben fucked her. They’re strong, and calming, and a little gentler than she preferred, but maybe with time alone she can let him know. She can convince him to go a little harder. 

“What was the last play _you_ saw?” He asks, and she takes the opportunity to shake off the arousal and pretend to think. 

“Probably _Rent_ , with my aunt, when it toured around the Midwest. I was like, eighteen, but I thought it was the height of rebellion or whatever,” she says, laughing at the memory of her young, idealistic self. So much bouncing around in her head and yet she still thought she might manage to save the world. “The music was good. I still listen to it sometimes if I’m in the mood.”

“Oh, fuck yeah, _Rent_ is great,” Richie says, humming the tune to _La Vie Boheme_ before realizing Bev isn’t going to join in. “Anyway, my sister was _obsessed_.” 

“I always forget you have sisters.” 

“Yep,” he says, popping his ‘p’ yet again. This time it’s not out of boredom, but she can’t quite pin it. “Two of ‘em, all the way back home. One of them just got engaged, actually,” he says blandly. 

“Not a fan of the fiance?” she asks, then sees the apathetic tilt of his head. “Marriage in general?” 

“Eh, I don’t really vibe with either of my sisters. Haven’t even met the fiance, but she doesn’t come home a whole lot,” he says, in that way he says things like they don’t mean anything to him, but that means it definitely _does_. “I told them both I was dating more than one person and that didn’t really, uh. Go over. Well.” 

Bev blinks, a little taken back. “You _told_ them?” 

“They kept bugging me about being single and I went a little overboard! I couldn’t listen to one more fucking story about my sister’s goddamn domestic bliss and how much I’m ‘missing out on ‘cause I can’t get my dysfunctional gay shit together.’” He huffs, shaking out his own air quotes and pressing his fingers back against his thighs. 

“That’s _clearly_ never going to happen, no matter how many guys you’re dating at once,” she says, and it teases a smile out of him. 

“They’re just mad they can’t tout me around as their queer poster child anymore,” he says, and she feels it in her chest. “Fucking liberal bullshit.” 

It takes her a second, the discomfort welling up in her stomach like indigestion. Richie waves a hand in the air, like they’re done with the conversation, but she pushes on. _Get to know each other_ , she hears, in a mish-mash of all of their voices. All of her boys. She’s told them plenty about herself; about her father, about her growing up. She can trust Richie.

“My aunt is kinda the same way,” she says, her voice wavering. “She was Obama this, Obama that, equality blah blah blah until I brought my first girlfriend home after graduation. Then things got _real_ quiet and awkward _real_ fast.” 

“Yeah, like what the fuck!” Richie exclaims, his feet dancing impatiently on the floor of the car. “If it’s an abstract thing it’s like, ‘eat, love and pray all day, bitches!’ But if it’s coming home to Thanksgiving dinner with you and your eight foot tall Marine boyfriend named Brent then we better steer clear of actual human empathy.” 

“Exactly,” she says, the relief of being understood becoming strangely familiar. “Anyway, at least that relationship didn’t last long, I guess. Now she’s just got to combat my three boyfriends.”

“Right,” Richie laughs. 

“If I’m a dumbass like you and let it all slip.”

“Oh, I was _proud_. Have you _seen_ my boyfriends?” Richie raises his eyebrows, waggling them as she giggles.

“I don’t know, have you seen mine?” she asks, and then, because she’s bubbling and happy with where this is going, “And what about the lady in the mix, huh? Did you have anything to say about her?” 

“Not _quite_ ,” he says, going a little quieter. “I’m still reconfiguring the whole bisexual thing, since you snuck up on me and reignited all my…” He waves his hands, flourishing. “...feelings. I wasn’t exactly ready for the line-of-fire questioning about why I’ve finally found my way back to pussy.” 

Bev blinks, her mind rotating painfully in her skull. Wh—because… _what_? 

“...b-back? And… when? I have not felt you around my pussy, sir, unless you’ve launched a truly impressive sneak attack.” 

“I’m—” Richie huffs and puffs, and wow. This is fun. Bev is already having fun with this. Not to mention how hearing Richie even suggest talking about her pussy is setting an increasingly larger fire to her libido. “I’m working my way up to it!” 

“Working…”

“Shut up.”

“... your way _up_ to it. Is that how you did it with cock, too?”

“I knew this would happen.” 

“You should try to give me a time-table on this work schedule, I want my pussy to be _fully_ prepared to be worked over.” 

“How’s tonight for you?” Richie asks, with a hint of a laugh, but Bev’s heart drops into her stomach, the tingling kicks up between her legs. They’ve still got a couple hours left in this trip, and she’s well beyond her days of pulling over to the side of the road to fuck.

But… maybe—

“Oh my _god_ , you are _so_ up for this,” Richie says, cackling, his head thrown back again in mirth.

Bev reaches over to clock him in the throat, and he doesn’t mention sex again for at least, like… twenty-four minutes.

Unfortunately, the drive takes it out of both of them. Even though Richie’s technically attending a “work event,” they each fit in a full day on the clock before leaving home. Bev needed the extra time to finish up a particularly complicated commission and Richie needed to cover for a coworker, so by the time they’re hitting the border and stopping to get food, Richie’s already dragging his feet. Then they hit traffic coming into Wisconsin, and then they come to a full-ass stop, and with each crawling moment of barely hitting twenty miles an hour, Bev feels her chances at having Richie on his back and begging for mercy creep farther and farther away. 

Once they get to the hotel, all of their energy is zapped. They get checked in, find their room, throw their bags down on the floor and collapse onto their separate beds. 

Bev contemplates falling asleep right there, in her clothes, in this freezing cold hotel room with Richie doing the same next to her. 

“Eddie would be so pissed we didn’t check for bed bugs,” Richie yawns, stretching his long legs until his feet hook over the end of the bed. Bev makes an attempt at curling back the corner of the mattress protector, but it’s one of those massive, all-consuming, size-of-the-mattress bug shield ones, so she flips it back over and calls it good. 

“Yet another reason it’s good we left him behind, then,” she says, to which he snorts. 

She thinks about calling Ben, just to let him know they got in safe, but the last thing she wants to do is interrupt his date. It’s already past nine: she knows what they’re up to. At least, she _hopes_ she knows. Then she considers calling just to confirm that’s what they’re doing. Surely he doesn’t need encouragement, right? Eddie will be taking care of that. This is the good thing about multiple partners: there’s someone else to bully her boyfriend into doing what he wants. She doesn’t need to be on stand-by for this date. Maybe when Richie and Ben finally get their shit together, but not today.

Then again, it did take Eddie _way_ too long to admit his feelings to Richie. Who’s to say he won’t be just as hesitant with Ben? 

But Eddie asked him out. 

After two solid minutes of internal arguing with herself, she shoots off a text— _Got in safe, love you, hope you’re getting gently laid!_ —and wrestles her fatigued body out of the bed. 

“Need the bathroom before I shower?” she asks, and the Lump That Is Richie waves her off to safety with a grunt. 

That settles that, then. If he’s not awake enough to talk, he’s definitely not awake enough for…

...whatever it was she was expecting tonight. 

A handjob? Oral? Maybe just some light, over-the-clothes fooling around like high school? Richie’s previously identified as gay; there’s been a wave of worry that’s hit her since their second stop-and-go traffic jam. She doesn’t want to push him. Maybe he’s having second-thoughts.

Then she realizes she sounds like Ben, and shakes it off. She’s ready to go with the flow.

 _We’ll see what happens_. 

Once she’s showered, brushed, exfoliated and dressed in soft pajama pants and a tank top, she emerges with sleep on her mind, only to find Richie, looking rather alert and interested, watching some sort of late night talk show and sitting against the headboard. 

His face brightens against the artificial light from the television when he sees her. She watches his hand ghost over his own sweats, up his thigh, and across to where there’s a very-present, growing bulge in his—

 _Oh_. 

“Seems you’ve woken up in the last half hour,” she says, crossing the room to put her clothes back in her bag. Richie hums, his hand resting lightly over his crotch. It’s not moving, or even pressing, from what she can tell. And she would be able to tell. Because she’s _looking_. 

Right at it. 

Richie shrugs. “I figured after your shower you might want to…” 

She shrugs back. “To…”

He squints, waiting on her, but she’s not giving him that satisfaction. 

“...cuddle?” he says instead, so she takes a seat on her own bed again. He shifts around, uncovering his frankly—well. It’s not like she hasn’t seen it before. 

“Oh, come on,” he huffs, “you’re saying you don’t at least want to… ya know.” His eyebrows do that dumb thing again. “Fool around?” 

Richie’s hand strokes gently, back up toward his erection. Bev sees a small wet spot forming on his thigh and licks her lips, wishing she had blown Ben this morning so she wouldn’t be so easy. But this is _new_. Exciting. And she wonders how Richie would be with a woman. With her. And despite his previous hesitation, he seems pretty good to go now.

Her hand ghosts over her own nipple, and she thinks of the vibrator tucked in the front pocket of her bag.

“You missed your chance, Trashmouth.” She feigns a yawn, which eventually becomes real, which would annoy her if it weren’t so perfectly proving her fake point. “I guess you’ll have to take care of yourself.” 

“My _self_ ,” he harumphes, fingering carelessly over himself. “And here I thought this was our _date_.” 

“Oh yes, how romantic,” she says, peeling back the bedspread and settling into the pillows. It’s blissfully warm; she might actually stay here and make him do all the work after all. “You did none of the driving, didn’t pay for the hotel and now won’t even get off the bed.” 

“My _boss_ paid for the hotel. You cannot hold that against me,” he says, his hand still working over his pants. 

“Yes, I can. It’s fun.” 

He sticks his tongue out. 

She ignores him, dipping her hand between her legs and following his lead, rubbing at herself over her pants. Usually she’d just take them off, but she’s keen on making him wait. Most of her earlier fatigue has melted away in favor of a hard—and apparently leaking—Richie. 

Richie’s eyes bounce down to watch, his face going slack. His throat works, his jaw clenching. There’s a thin layer of stubble over his chin, a nine o’clock shadow. Dark and sharp, so unlike the hair on his arms, which is still dark, but fluffy, and it makes him shiver to run her fingers through it, to trace over the notch on his wrist, to pull his arm around her so they’re pressed more tightly together. She loves pressing into his chest. She loves kissing at his bottom lip until he whines, and then biting over the same spot. She remembers the sound so perfectly, ringing just right in her mind, that she suddenly needs fewer layers on.

And her vibrator. 

Bev throws herself up out of bed, shucking off her pants and finding the vibrating wand before laying back down. Richie’s eyes watch her the whole way, and when she looks back toward him, his pants are off, too. 

Her brain shorts out.

Beverly’s _seen_ Richie’s cock before. Usually in someone’s else’s hand, or mouth, or pressed between Richie and someone else, or even inside someone else, if she’s lucky. It’s long and pink and a little thick, already mostly hard from his solo machinations. But something about it on its own... curving out from a dark nest of hair that spreads to the gentler covering over his thighs, and that’s hair she doesn’t often get to stroke through, but she wants to do it now. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” she blurts, and then nods, because she agrees with all of her impulses, even if it’s retroactively, and even if she’s a bit distracted by Richie’s cock. 

She likes having him all to herself. And, judging by how quickly he followed her command—his hand dropped helplessly beside him, his fingers still twitching to touch himself—he’s completely at her mercy. Just how she wanted him. 

“Watch me for awhile,” she says, shifting to the edge of the bed so she can spread her legs. “You know, observe and learn.” 

Richie rolls his eyes, but his cock twitches. “I don’t need to—”

“Bup bup! Did I mention talking?” 

His mouth snaps shut with a click. 

“Wow, you really can take an order.” She holds down the button and waits for the right setting. “Does Eddie know this?” 

Richie’s eyebrows go up. She nods.

“Of course he does,” he answers, hissing the s, his teeth lining up all crooked, his cock swelling under her gaze, and she laughs, then presses the toy to her clit and hisses herself. 

This setting isn’t the strongest, but it’s got a little bite. Perfect for what she’s got planned. She lets it rest lazily against her for a few minutes, rolling her hips against the large, circular head. She lets it slide up and down, already shiny and wet. 

Richie’s eyes never leave her. 

“Like what you see?” she asks, then feels like a porn star. That’s what she gets for fucking Ben on the regular. And, like, actually doing porn sometimes. Richie’s head snaps in a nod. 

“Feel good?” he asks back. She nods, too, moving to lift the hem of her shirt. 

“Are boobs on the table here?” 

Richie squints, eyes coming back into focus. “Why wouldn’t they be on the table?”

“I thought you might not want to—”

“I want to,” he says, quick and low, and she flings her shirt over her head and flings herself over to Richie’s bed, where she pushes at his bare thigh until he moves over. 

Fuck her resolve. Fucking teasing. They have all weekend. 

She plunges their mouths together, sliding her tongue down the length of his until he moans into her. His hands find her hips. Her hands keep the wand in the right place. She bucks into it, into his mouth, into his chest, and feels his erection bounce on her thigh. The warm, eager sensation of it throws her off course, and she wraps a hand around it without another thought.

She’s not really thinking altogether. The fatigue and the car ride and the traffic and the shitty bean and rice burrito have her on a short mental leash, but Richie seems to be matching her move for move. His hand comes up to brush over her stomach, leading up to her nipple. She feels the hesitation, but he’s over it in a second, pinching her softly until she keens. 

“Are nipples on the table?” he asks breathlessly.

“Shut the fuck up,” she says, shoving her nipple into his mouth. He takes it well, his tongue laving over where it’s pointed and sensitive, and she pumps his cock in her hand a few times before realizing it’s too dry. “Where’s your—”

He throws himself sideways, then throws a bottle that hits her straight in the stomach. 

“Shit, sorry, yes, I have lube,” he says, rubbing stupidly at where there’s already a red mark and then latching his mouth back around her nipple to make up for it. She thinks of scolding him, but he’s sucking perfectly, swirling his tongue and ending with a light clench of his teeth, and then she’s too worried about getting her hand back on his dick to care. 

They go round and round like that for a few minutes, once the slide is smoother: her jerking him off, him sucking on her nipples and—once she gets the clue from his pawing hand and gives the wand a rest—circling a couple fingers against her clit. 

“You’re so wet,” Richie breathes, using his free hand to pull at her hip, trying to coax her down on top of him. 

“Hhhhaa—don’t look so flattered, it was mostly the wand.” His fingers slide, pushing tight and slippery in her. But when he reaches her entrance she pulls away. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looks confused, his brows furrowed, but they pinch more tightly together in pleasure as she keeps a hand wrapped around him, working the head in the circle of her fingers. Then she lets go. 

“ _Bevvvv_ ,” he whines, still keeping a hand off himself, like a good boy. She shimmies to the side and lifts up onto her knees. Her legs are tucked under her, and she fits the wand between them and right against where she’s wet and slick. Then she lines up, ducks down, and takes the head of Richie’s cock into her mouth. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Richie swears, his hands finding the back of her head to hold on. They bounce off for a second, like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to touch, but when she presses the power yet again, the sounds of the vibrations bring them back with bruising force. “Fuck, fuck, what are you—”

She pops off, a string of saliva already built up, but she’s sure as shit learned from almost a year of _observing and learning_ that Richie likes it loud and… well. Disgusting. 

“We’re both too tired to fuck,” she says, quick, licking over his slit, watching his mouth drop open with pleasure, then adds, “Oh, and come in my mouth. I’m not cleaning your jizz off a hotel bedspread on our ‘date.’” 

“Did you just air-quote around my dick?” 

She blinks. “I half air-quoted.” 

“Still counts,” he says, his lips spread wide in a smile. Absurdly, she wants to kiss him, and she has never felt closer to Eddie Kaspbrak in her life. Instead, she wraps her free hand around his cock, fingers down one of the veins on the side, and slowly drops her mouth around until she slides down to meet it. 

This time, his hands are softer, more deliberate. They sweep up the side of her arm, down and over the points of her spine, across the swell of her ass. She starts moving her hips, pinning the wand down into the mattress so she can grind on it. He grips there, and as she starts moaning, reveling in the sting of his fingernails, he thrusts up, shakily pressing him deeper into her throat. 

She takes it, greedily, groaning louder, pushing down harder, fucking her hips forward until she’s swinging in one fluid motion: her mouth on his cock, her pussy against the toy. She’s cresting on her orgasm quickly, throwing herself gladly toward the edge as Richie grows hot and hard against her tongue. 

“You gonna come?” he asks, then sputters, “oh fuck, I’m gonna come, _I’m_ going to come.” 

So she keeps going, flattens her tongue and moves up to suck on the head, to bob up and down, up and down, pressing down and down and _down_ until the tingling spreads all the way across her abdomen; until she can free her hand and skate across Richie’s chest until she finds his nipple; until she squeezes it so hard it pulls a whine out of him, and that does it, that fucking does it—

“Fuck, Bev, _fuuuuuuuck_ —” he groans, at the same time she goes off, her thighs clenching in shivers. Richie’s jerking on the mattress, his chest sweaty under her hand, spilling rough and bitter onto the back of her tongue as she drips spit into the hair around his cock. She’s far beyond caring, coming and coming and _coming_ as the vibrations keep going, keep pulling more tremor shocks of pleasure from her, and then Richie’s hand grips the back of her head to pump her gently over his cock, and she almost comes again even before she’s done. She’ll have to let him know she likes it harder than that: something he might want to know for the rest of the weekend. 

As she pulls off, the toy soaked between her legs, Richie shining down at her like she just took his virginity, it hits her:

They’re not going to do anything but fuck this weekend. 

There are things on their agenda, so it’s not _all_ they do. 

The reason they’re here in the first place is for Richie’s conference, so most of his Saturday is spoken for. 

Bev has a full morning and early evening of walking around planned. Both equally important, in her mind. She’s going to find a body of water, maybe get some ice cream, and stare into the rolling, rushing abyss of waves until they reunite for dinner and a concert. 

But then Richie comes out of the shower with a towel slung low around his hips, the curly hair on his chest still beading with water, and Bev barely gets a word out before pushing him against the wall and jerking him off until he comes into the palm of her hand. He tries to push her back onto the bed to eat her out, but she’s _certainly_ not letting him do that for the first time with _six minutes left, Richie_ , so he finds familiar territory in helping her rub one out while practically sucking hickies onto her nipples. 

Richie leaves their room in a band tee, only a few minutes late, flushed and dewy and nothing but smiles. She’s pretty sure it’s the best mood she’s ever seen him in on his way to work, but that might be because of what she had been muttering with his dick in her hand. An endless mantra of _you’re gonna get this big stupid cock inside me tonight, gonna fuck me, gonna fuck me_ hard _so I know how bad you want it_ —

It’s not that she’s been avoiding, really, it’s just—

“It’s just hard to let someone new in,” Ben says on the other line, after she’s done explaining the creeping sense of anxiety she keeps feeling whenever she’s _positive_ Richie’s angling to… well.

“That’s a little too on the nose, I think,” she tells him. He sputters, then laughs shyly.

“Sorry, uh. Yeah. But you know. You know what I mean.” 

“I do, yeah,” she sighs, wanting to kick herself and her stupid body for not cooperating no-questions-asked. 

She wants it! She wants Richie! She _knows_ Richie. It’s just that—

“Just tell him. He’ll get it. He’ll go slow,” Ben says, like he _knows_ , because he does, and that sends shivers shooting up Bev’s spine. Sometimes just _thinking_ about Ben and Richie together gets her going. She loves Eddie, but now that she’s been with Richie, alone, twice, the prospect of two people she’s sleeping with fucking in front of her—sweaty, the sounds of their skin slapping as they come together, as Richie drives into Ben’s stretched ass—is… 

“Bev?” 

“Yeah,” she says, snapping out of her own imagination. Fuck, she’s horny. She’s got at least four hours until Richie gets back. _Fuck_. “Yeah, I’ll—I’ll tell him.”

Ben sighs. “You’re not going to tell him.”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Real quick, man, I know you were looking to fuck like bunnies this afternoon, but I’ve got this weird trauma response thing when I sleep with someone new and I’m pretty sure my vagina’s getting ready to close around you like a vice!’” She pauses, thinking of movie night in her dorm a few years ago. “Or should I just ask him if he’s seen _Teeth_ and go from there?” 

Ben laughs, and it lightens the weight on her chest. It’s not like she hadn’t thought of this before. She just figured she knew Richie well enough that it wouldn’t matter. They’ve been through a lot together; there’s no reason she shouldn’t trust him. 

“I understood,” Ben says softly. 

She huffs. “But he’s not—”

“He’s _Richie_ ,” Ben interrupts. “And not to blow his cover or anything, but I’m pretty sure he loves the crap out of you.” 

“Yeah,” she says, “yeah, I know he does. It’s gross.” 

“Yeah, I’m about to throw up just thinking about it,” he teases. 

“Speaking of whiiiiich… you haven’t told me about _your_ date yet. Spill,” she demands, exceedingly happy to find a change of subject. She’ll think about it on her day alone. Or she won’t, it’s her day, fuck them all, she can do what she wants. “Did he like the sushi? How many plates did he eat? Was it more than two? Did you make it to bed before the first orgasm?” 

Ben laughs, and she misses the way his cheeks get all rosy. 

“Yes, it was, like… three, so yes, and definitely not,” he says, and she squeals into the speaker until he agrees to give her the full story. 

Her walking around plan goes off without a hitch. The ice cream shop is covered in pink cows and lets her add extra caramel without an up-charge. The breeze coming off the water is brisk and freezing and stings her face just enough to make her feel alive. No one talks to her the entire time, except, of course, the nice ice cream man, but even he isn’t overly chatty. Her walk back to the hotel is leisurely, and by the time she arrives a text from Richie comes in saying he’ll return with a little time to spare. 

She lays down on her bed, meaning to just shut her eyes and rest, but wakes to a soft pressure on her arm. Blinking awake, she realizes it’s Richie, perched on the end of the bed. 

“Good afternoon, sleepy,” he says quietly, his hand carving a soothing path down her side. “I’m stoked to see you actually resting. Ben’s gonna be so excited.” 

Something rolls pleasantly through Bev’s chest, neutralizing that yucky after-nap hangover she sometimes gets. Richie smiles down at her, doofy and earnest, and it reminds her of Ben, but it also doesn’t. His eyes are so painfully Richie, tired and happy to see her and also probably horny—with how heavily lidded his eyes are—and the wonderfully weird combination lurches her body up until she finds Richie’s mouth. 

“Good afternoon,” she snuffles into the kisses, and Richie accepts them gladly, laughing a bit hysterically between them.

Making out like this makes her feel like a teenager again. Shifting around on the bed to peel off their clothes; grabbing and grasping wherever they can find; making each other moan and laugh and slap and lick and then moan all over again. It’s so _easy_ , so natural and fun and _funny_ that her body accepts it without question. And she’s… she’s blown over. 

Richie fingers her for a while first, soft and gentle, taking his time and making her laugh before sliding on the condom and filling her up. She’s bent over the side of the bed, gripping the bedspread tight, waiting for the wall to throw itself up and—

Nothing. 

Nothing but Richie. All over. Inside her, against her, breathing heavy and sweaty into her neck, sucking spots on the wing of her shoulder blades. She gasps his name and reaches back to slap at his ass when he slows down too much. She almost forgets she was worried at all, with how well he makes her come; once with fingers on her clit and again just on his dick, hands pinned hard and gripping under his. The sudden shift in control is what gets her, and she’s so spectacularly delighted at his unexpected strength and commitment to holding her down that she clenches tight around him as a reward, which sends him spinning into his own orgasm. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie gasps, side by side in the aftermath, covered in each other’s sweat and at least three separate applications of lube. 

“Yeah, that was pretty good,” she says, heart hammering in her chest from the come-down. 

“ _Pretty_ good?”

She rolls over to circle his nipple, shrugging as she eyes his softening erection. It’s tempting, but they’ve already been at it for a couple hours. 

“We’re going to be late, I don’t have time to compliment you all night.” 

Richie groans, then hisses as he pulls off the condom. 

“Give a guy a minute.” 

It’s just that… Bev’s always wanted to fool around in a car. 

And Richie, with his hand already halfway up her skirt by the time they’re parked outside the bar with five minutes to spare, seems like the perfect person to make that dream become a reality. 

So Bev climbs into his lap and adjusts until her spine isn’t being crushed into the dashboard and goes to town on his neck. If experience and vision is any indication, she already knows Richie is easy to bruise. Why should Eddie and Ben have all the fun marking him up? 

After she pulls some rude noises from him, Richie slots the bulge of his clothed dick right between her legs. They rock together, hard and fast, until she’s positive he’s going to end up with a wet spot on the front of his pants. 

It’s not the best. Bev hits her elbow on the steering wheel and Richie almost bites her tongue in half when said elbow hits the horn. But it’s not bad. Richie’s glasses are fogged up from their heavy panting and Bev’s thighs are quivering every time Richie slams into her. They’re giggling like teenagers, and Bev never really wants it to end, despite the cramping and the imminent bruises. But the excitement of the whole night, coupled with the fact that people are milling about the parking lot—Richie almost comes in his pants when someone knocks on their window and hoots—means they’re about ready to call it quits ten minutes in.

They pour from the car with a peel of laughter and crookedly planted kisses that leave Bev’s chin and bottom lip wet and tingly. Bev cuts in front, her back plastered to Richie’s chest to hide where he’s still calming down. Plus there’s the added bonus of his hard dick pressing into her ass, which keeps her occupied all the way to the line inside. 

The night is dark and rainy but she hardly notices the cold with Richie tucked up against her. There’s an old marquee with the band’s name stacked under a showing of _Casablanca_ tomorrow night. The lobby is crowded full of college students in various states of dress, some who look like they dressed for a concert—band tees and ripped jeans—and the other half who look like they rolled out of bed and stumbled their way toward the Capitol building until they heard music. Toiling over her outfit was probably for naught, but the stretched blue collar with a peek of Richie’s white t-shirt underneath makes her feel a little sexy; a little like a teenager whose older boyfriend brought them to a concert. 

Their tickets are a whole floor up in the balcony, so Richie promises to get them two drinks while Bev finds their seats. She heads to the bathroom first—across the hall from the little curtain into their section—and puts on a new layer of lipstick and fluffs her hair in the mirror to complete the look. 

When the lights finally go down, they’re playing footsie and drinking overpriced gin out of plastic cups. 

It’s a good thing she downs most of it during the opening act, because the headliners—some local band with a pretentious name and haircuts straight from the early 00’s—are _loud_ and a little, like, screechy. Being in their presence is not particularly enchanting, but she can’t say the same for Richie. A delighted little ball of energy, Richie dances around his designated human-sized bubble like this is the best music he’s ever heard in his life. When he bounces into her bubble, too, she flails along with him, because it’s always better to dance to music than not, in her opinion. All music can be better with a little dancing. And Richie’s version of dancing is more akin to riding unbuckled down the tallest hill on a rollercoaster, but _fuck_ , it’s a rush. 

“You look good,” he yells after spinning her a few times, her hair clinging in sweaty strands to her face. She pushes at him but he comes right back, planting a peck to her forehead that turns into another spin, and then she’s caught under his arm as they sway back and forth to the music. 

“You look sweaty,” she yells back. He smiles over at her. She gets another kiss on the forehead. 

Richie throws back the rest of his drink once they hit a slow song, the lights gone down to a purple hush. A few cell phone screens jump out from the crowd, and she watches them dazedly, the gin prickling in her throat and her veins. Richie’s hand crawls from around her shoulder down her spine. When she turns toward him, he’s watching her instead of the show, his mouth hung open and his eyes flicking down to where hers is, too. 

He kisses her gently. His hand shifts against the small of her back, pressing her closer. He tastes like gin and tonic and the cigarette he snuck out to smoke halfway through the show, and her whole body sings with the pounding of the bass through the room. As soon as the crowd applauds the end of the slow song, the beat kicks up, and Bev turns, opens her mouth wider for Richie to lick inside, and then she’s being lifted onto his hips and she loses the thread from there. 

Richie’s the main attraction, really. He has been on this whole trip. Fuck the nice walks alone or the car ride or the obnoxiously loud band that in hindsight has a pretty cute drummer. Richie’s the one she came here for. 

Richie hisses a garbled, “Shit,” into her mouth as she clings to him, thighs and hips and legs and tongues all a mess together. The music and the lights drown them both out; it feels like kissing in the dark, feeling around for each other best they can until someone’s hand pats her on the back. She breaks away with a huff, when she hears someone say:

“Get a fucking room.” 

It’s like it comes from above them, behind them and next to them all at once. Bev can’t tell left from right with Richie’s hands still wrapped tight around her waist and the burn of his stubble still fresh on her chin and lips until she sees his face: a _man’s face_ , sidled right up against her back. A hand lands between her shoulder blades and for a second, still muddled and confused, her brain thinks it’s Richie. But then Richie’s hands come up in a sign of surrender, and she turns to see the man with a pinched face shadowed deep into the dark.

“People can see you, _bitch_ ,” the guy says, and fear starts ringing in Bev’s ears. Her whole body goes numb. 

Richie doesn’t notice, too busy pushing the guy back, but once he plants Bev back onto her feet she almost buckles. Her hand finds the back of the seats in front of her. Luckily, some woman shows up a few seconds later to wrangle the strange, angry man away, mumbling loudly about how many drinks he’s had. When they’re both gone, Richie’s attention snaps back to Bev, his hand rubbing at the small of her back as she tries to even out her breathing. The music and the making out and the almost-fight has her pulse rocketing through her whole body, even louder in her ears than the pounding of the bass, but then Richie leans down to meet her eyes.

“You okay?” his lips say, she can’t hear him, it’s far too loud. She nods. It’s a lie, but she can’t exactly explain _what_ about this guy freaked her out, what triggered her flight response so quickly, other than he called her a bitch and the fucking… flames behind his eyes, it looked like, like—

Richie’s forehead flinches in concern, but Bev slams her eyes shut and takes a deep breath in through her nose. She thinks Richie’s going to insist she sit down, or maybe he’ll just hug her a little closer, but then he leans down and kisses her, gentle lips against her, just waiting for her to respond. 

Her whole body is frozen. To go from the loose and free way she moved before, wrapped around Richie’s body, to being so scared she thought she might crack her jaw, and now—and _now_ —

Richie kisses her like he’s trying to tell her everything. His hands come up to hold at her cheeks, to follow the motion of their mouths moving together. One drops, drifting down the length of her arm, where she’s still shaking. She briefly wonders if this is how he calms Eddie down, too. But it feels different. 

It feels like it’s for _her_. 

The thumping passion of before has melted away after the altercation, leaving a layer of tenderness Richie saves for those closest to him. He’s all touches and laughs and affection once he’s even marginally comfortable, but finding the diamond of sincerity in the rough of Richie’s vulnerability is something akin to magic. He opens like a petal for her; wanting to reassure right back, to tell her he’s there, to let her know she’s alright. 

She knows. 

And she’s ready to shove all the tenderness out of the way in favor of getting him inside her.

Like… _now_. 

When she pulls back she sees the way Richie’s eyes pop open in shock and surprise behind his clunky glasses, but she pushes right past him to make a beeline for the restrooms. The edge of panic heightens her senses. She feels the music and the crowd and the rushing between her legs as she power walks through the door, Richie tight on her heels. There’s a girl using the electric hand dryer on her hair and another washing her hands, but Bev ignores them to drag Richie into the handicapped stall. They barely bat an eye. Richie, on the other hand, blinks down at her with cartoon heart eyes. 

Bev shoves a hand up his shirt and pinches his nipple.

“Fuck, what the _fuck_.” He shrinks back into the wall. She grabs the lapels of his jacket and drags him closer. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” he yelps. She smiles.

“Like you love me or something.”

Richie’s face softens. His shoulders relax, his whole body curling toward her. 

“Alright, I’ll cut it out,” he tells her, sneaking a kiss to the tip of her nose. His eyes are shining in the light, cute and dorky and eager, and she presses him harder into the wall to try to get him to stop. The breath clutches short and shaky in her lungs, still reeling, but she surges forward to kiss it out of her mind. 

Richie is strong, Bev is sure of it—she wants to hop on top of his hips, sling herself up into his arms and go from there, but since alcohol and adrenaline are all messy and mixed in, she pushes him toward the toilet bowl instead. There are handles on either side of the wall, anyway. Might as well take advantage. 

Richie whoops like he’s won a carnival prize while he slips off-balance on the plastic seat, righting himself with palms against the dirty walls. The grime of the theater doesn’t bother her much, but she leans forward and taps at Richie’s hands with her own.

“Keep them there,” she says, and Richie’s eyebrows wiggle affirmatively. 

She shucks her skirt off, then takes out Richie’s cock and sits astride his hips, tucking it under her ass. They’re warm, pressed together, her slick already coating him, his hands already shaking with the effort to keep them against the wall. 

“Giddyup, cowgirl,” Richie snorts. The skin around his eyes flinch like he’s nervous. Bev grinds back on him, and his mouth drops open, the tips of his ears going red like the rest of his face, still flushed from the heat of the concert hall. She reaches around into his back pocket to get a condom, and rolls it on his as fast as her hands will allow.

Turns out she’s a little nervous, too. Making out usually helps, so she tries more of that. For both of their sakes. She grinds against him in a waving motion as they sit, licking and sucking at each other’s mouths with adolescent-like abandon. She hasn’t kissed anyone like this in years—like they’re vacuum-sealed at the tongue. It’s a little gross, but she likes gross. She likes gross with _Richie_. 

Wrapping a hand around his jaw, she squeezes tight at the hinge. Richie opens easy, and she gathers the saliva pooled under her tongue and spits, right into his mouth. He whimpers, his hips bucking. She grips her thighs tighter to keep from being thrown off. 

“Whoa there, boy,” she teases, and Richie neighs, sputtering his lips and slobbering both of their spit all over Bev’s face. “Oh _fuck_ you—” 

“Fuck yes,” Richie breathes, thrusting his hips again, sliding himself further against her until she reaches down and starts easing his cock inside.

She takes a deep breath, but the intrusion still spikes her heart rate. The man in the crowd, the overwhelming amount of emotions this weekend, it all stirs in her stomach as she wills herself to calm. She closes her eyes and forces a loop of different memories instead: cuddling up to Richie in bed, pressing Richie against the wall of the hotel, laughing with Richie in the car, kissing Richie while the music blared loud yet unheard around them. She relaxes, her muscles unclenching, her mind re-focusing. When her eyes open back up, she sees Richie’s hands twitch on the wall. 

“Keep ‘em up, cowboy,” she says shakily, and Richie grins like she just gave him a present. She rocks her hips, again, and again, until Richie is meeting her, slapping their skin gently together, Richie’s thighs on Bev’s ass. He’s strong enough to lift her up into the air—she fucking _knew it_ —still impaled on his cock, and the drag of him inside gets her whimpering far too loudly for such a public place. 

A knock thumps the stall door, but they’re too wrapped up in each other to care. Bev pillages Richie’s neck as he fucks up into her, his little breathy noises increasing in intensity until he finally huffs his frustration and stops. 

Bev pulls away, dazed. “Wha—”

“Hands,” he says, his cheeks a ruddy, splotched mess, and she nods. 

“Hands, yes. Hands, put your hands on me.” She rips them down from the wall and presses them into the give of her hips, rolling their bodies together. It doesn’t take Richie long to get the clue, and then he’s back to the same speed as before, and with a little more control, he goes absolutely hogwild. He forces her down harder, pressing a thumb to her clit and rubbing circles that feel like they’re splitting her toso in two. She buries her face in his neck, inhaling the sweaty scent of him, gasping into his skin. The stretched tendon of his neck flinches where she sinks her teeth into it, but she’s losing her mind. She needs something to hold onto. 

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Richie whines against her, jolting. Bev laughs, and he adds a finger where he’s rubbing her to orgasm as some sort of delightful reward. Then he brings his thumb up to shove into her mouth, her taste wet and tangy against her tongue, and he _slams_ up up up until all her muscles tighten around him. She comes hard and it ripples through her; hard waves of pleasure burn through to her scalp and her fingers and her toes. 

Just as she’s coming down, Richie groans, his hips jackhammering until she has to grip his shoulders to hang on. She tries to kiss him through it but it’s more like licking at his open mouth, feeling the heat of his breath where he’s panting, pulling hard and rough at the hair on the back of his head to keep him going. The sweat sticks heavy and delicious between them, on their legs, their hands, their chins, all mixed with spit and come and what Bev thinks is probably some unknown fluid from the strange bathroom, but she tries to focus on him coming inside her. Slowing the motion of her hips as Richie gets quieter, she rubs the forming stubble on his cheeks against her own. It’s harsh, and it hurts, and it brings her back to Earth, and she can hear his little noises of pleasure right in her ear. 

When she pulls back, he’s beaming at her, tired and fucked-out. 

“I missed concerts,” he says, like an asshole. They’re practically super-glued together with fluids, but she kisses Richie to shut him up first. 

They’ll clean up eventually. 

They sleep in the same bed that night. Bev tucks her head under Richie’s arm and listens to him hum the tunes from the concert he definitely doesn’t know. It’s mostly nonsense, but it’s the last thing she hears before drifting off. 

The next morning, she lets Richie drive home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you liked it :)
> 
> I have no idea when the next chapter will be out - this project is my fun-times side-piece when the stress of bigger projects are too much, but I have every intention of finishing it. If you've stuck with me I appreciate it!


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